


Intermission

by EponineFaye



Category: Chenzel - Fandom, Wicked RPF
Genre: Adultery, Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Sequel to Visitor, Unhappiness, bitches be doing more damage, to each other...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EponineFaye/pseuds/EponineFaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Visitor.<br/>A couple years have passed and life is life - you live and you lose, and you gain little bits of experience along the way. Horrible, aching misery dulls to complacent sadness, and the lies we chose to live become a little easier to cope with. Some change is gradual, but some change is sudden. Reviews make me smile. You are loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be every other Sunday night following this one. If I'm a bit late, I apologize in advance and I'm sure I'll apologize if/when it happens. Thank you for reading -- I appreciate you. (Trigger Warning: implied eating disorders, blatant spousal abuse and substance abuse throughout).

She has this way of looking at you - just looking, nothing else - and making you feel guilty about your whole life. She can just cast her gaze and boom. Done. You feel like everything and anything is your fault.

I love her, but I've never known how to get past that look.

She just feels everything so deeply. I don't know how to do that. For some reason or another I'm just detached from so much. I feel for these characters I'm given, but that's about it. I feel like they're people, but they're people without a voice. They have so much to say and so much to give but they don't have anything unless I offer them a way to say what needs to be said.

They're so much stronger than I am in every way, it's ridiculous. I find them so fascinating, I have to put my best effort into them. Maybe it's just because I find them so much more interesting than myself - or maybe because I can focus on them instead of the shit inside my head. It's all worthless anyway. I just feel like I'm never enough for myself, and if I am then I'm not for anyone else. I'm one of those early 2000's music videos where it's all dark and misunderstood, and there's a little girl crying for something or someone to save her. Only I'm happy with the dark and misunderstood - I don't want to be saved from my own head.

I'm comfortable with the dull insanity I've created.

And that's sad.

I realize it's sad but I'm not up for changing it.

Believe me, I run around my twisted mind whenever life quiets down, whether it's for a random moment or the hour after my son's asleep or in the car or anywhere I'm not directly interacting with anyone. Sometimes even when I'm having a conversation, and all the while I just feel like screaming at myself how awful it is that I'm comfortable living in this vast static - never changing, never being open to change, never wanting for anything more than what I feel stifles me every day.

I'm aware I should be seeking some kind of help, but I don't want to, and I don't think it would do any good. I know where I should be, and that's where I am. The problem is, that's not where I _want_ to be.

I start to smile, my stupid word choices making me think back on things that have come out of my mouth on stage. Little images flash through my mind when a string of words comes into my brain.

Yet of all the strings of words there are, I never thought I'd be the one called and hearing, "She's sick."

Sick.

I hate that word. I don't think it makes a lot of sense – why can't they just tell me the truth and say, "It looks like she hasn't eaten in about a year, and she isn't letting us call her parents, so she gave us your number."

I'm glad they called me, but I'm horrified they called me. There shouldn't be a reason for a call because this shouldn't happen. I'm scared and angry and incredibly afraid that I'm the reason for it. My head keeps spinning around the fact that I've probably done more irreparable damage to her than any other one thing in her life. I'm at fault for a lot more than I'd like to let myself be aware of.

But there's no time to hate myself.

I pull in to the hospital parking lot, and I don't exactly know if I lock the car or not, but there isn't anything important in there – we have more car seats, and I can't see anyone actually stealing that.

There are a few women behind a desk when I walk into urgent care. I explain quickly that I don't know this hospital and I'd need someone to show me where Kristin is They talk quickly amongst themselves before the heavier of the three dials the phone and smiles at me without much sincerity.

She says "Chenoweth," into the phone, followed by a "Thanks."

I have to remind myself to breathe when she waves me forward to follow her. We go through doorway after doorway, then in an elevator. She checks her phone as I adjust the sunglasses that I'm under the delusion hide who I am from any random fan who thinks it would be a good idea to come up to me in a hospital. Hopefully whatever or whoever they'd be here for would be more important than seeing _me_ in person. Obviously there are more important things for everyone in play than to ask if I could sign something or ooze over whatever it is they think I'm wonderful for. I'm just-

I'm going on tangents so I don't have to think about what I'll be dealing with in a matter of seconds. Or minutes – whatever.

The little ding sounds and the door opens. The nurse lets me out first, only leaning half way out of the elevator. She points to the end of the hallway. "She'll be in eleven – oh – one."

"Thank you." I nod before making my legs move correctly.

What if she's like struggling for breath and half-awake and all groggy from pain meds like the chick from the Bette Midler movie? I don't know how to deal with this. I didn't have my own baby in a fucking hospital because these places are just scary. I don't like them.

There blinds are closed and there's a thing over the window on the door.

They put those there even for minor celebrities like us, but that scares me too. My hand stays on the handle for a little longer than I'd like, but I need to prepare myself. I haven't seen her in a little over a month. I've been in New York and she's been here – how was I supposed to know?

And there's no way she could be _that_ thin after just a month, right?

_God damn it, just open the door._

As soon as I enter, her head just turns just slightly to look at me. Then there's that smile – the one that knows how to win me over and make me feel like I've done nothing but wrong in my life. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but nothing does anymore.

"Hi."

* * *

She stands there like she's surprised.

I keep my half smile there because what other expression do I have? I could give her something completely fake, or the blank stare that occupies my expression most of the time. I am happy to see her. Maybe these aren't the best of circumstances, but it might be more than a month until I was able to see her again, so at least she's here. At least she still cares in some small way.

"Hi, there."

After taking a deep breath she sets her purse down in the chair next to me and sits herself on the edge of the bed – if you can call it a bed. Hospital beds are just cyborg cots. Beds are comfortable. This is definitely not comfortable.

Her hand drapes over mine. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I shrug a little, squeezing her hand before looking out the window again. "Better than this morning."

"That's good."

I just nod. There's a Kia in the parking lot with a window, or lack thereof, that looks to be sealed with duct tape and plastic bags that keeps flapping with the breeze. I keep trying to imagine what it would sound like. Then I imagine who it belongs to… why they're here and how long they've been here for. If it's a child or a parent they're visiting, or if they had to drive themselves here because they chopped off a tip of their finger because they don't know how to correctly dice onions.

"Kris."

"Hmm?" I look back to her, wishing I wasn't so groggy. Maybe I could have a bit of an attention span if these drugs weren't so strong. Why wouldn't they give me a smaller dosage? Can't they see how tiny I am?

She shifts beside me and crosses her arms. "What happened?" Her voice lets me know she's already asked me.

"I'm not sure. One second I was standing just out of the shot, ready to say my line and walk on, then a second and a half later Julie's standing over me with her phone in one hand and yelling at someone to get me water…" I stretch a little before lifting my shoulders. "Apparently I have a concussion." A little laugh bubbles out as I lay my head back again. "And we're selling some stupid story… I think we're saying a light fell on me or something."

She nods, looking away from me. She can't even crack a smile?

I take a deep breath and look out the window again, willing the knot in my throat not to get any bigger. "How's little man?"

"He's good." I hear her sigh like she's avoiding everything. "We're looking for daycare or pre-kindergarten options… because he's getting older and he should be around kids his age and blah blah blah."

"That's crazy." I shake my head. "Two weeks ago he could barely point at something."

"I know – time goes fast."

I look down at my fingernails. "I miss him.."

Out of the corner of my eye she's nodding.

One too many seconds float in between us without words. There are no more comfortable silences anymore because when there is silence, there's thinking. And when there's thinking, it means there's thinking of what I've given up to stay or how guilty she is for letting me.

"How's your mom doing?" Her smile isn't even a smile – when I look up at her there's just a straight line on her face.

"Better." I yawn and let my head fall back on the pillow. "Finally got over that cold, and Daddy keeps telling me how beautiful it is down there, that I should come and visit."

"You're not?"

I laugh, but not the kind when you think something's funny. "Idina, what do you think?"

She looks me up and down. "Because of this?"

"No." I itch my thigh – the same damn spot that's been itching me for the past hour. "Because whenever I go down there we talk about the same thing, and I don't want to do that anymore."

"What?"

"Talk about you." I shake my head. "Mamma doesn't like you very much. Then at the same time she's worried for you."

"She has no reason-"

I cut her off by reaching forward and pulling the zipper on her hoody down a little. And sure enough there's another bruise. The same kind that makes my stomach turn, but I've realized it's her choice. She wants to stay there and let herself be thrown in the garbage so her baby can look up to a man that, let's be honest – if he has to do that to show his brute strength and dominance, isn't much of a man.

"If you're going to lie, maybe wear something I can't see the yellowing from the neck line."

As soon as I sit back she zips up the sweater and looks away.

"She asks me how you are then says I should stop talking to you… Almost in the same breath." I don't know why a little smile appears on my face. Maybe it's just thinking about my mother.

"It's not even that bad…"

"Idina, it's old." I look at her dead in the eye. "Don't feed me bullshit – avoid the topic all you like but don't try and pretend like I'm stupid and I'd believe that garbage."

"I'm fine!"

"Right. You keep telling yourself that."

"What about you?" Now she's yelling at me. She's off the bed and pacing with her arms crossed, glaring at me.

For some reason my reaction is to laugh. "What about me?"

"Why are you stick thin and passing out? Let's look at your wonderful choices while we're at it!"

"Go for it." I nod, still with the empty grin.

She paces toward the bed and leans in like she's intimidating anyone. "You're not healthy – I know you notice, so why are you letting it get this bad?"

"What makes you think you deserve the answer to that?"

"You had the fucking hospital call me! If I don't deserve answers out of everyone, Kristin, why am I here?" Her head shakes from side to side as she turns around again, letting her arms raise at the elbow like she's shaking something invisible before they fall again and slap her thighs. "Our relationship should have at least _some_ honesty, don't you think?"

"Relationship?" Little bits of tears pop up in my vision, though I'm still laughing. I wipe away at my eyes before they have a chance to fall all the way. "God, this isn't a relationship."

She just looks at me like she's offended.

"Not anymore." I shake my head as the smile fades. "Whatever relationship we had is so twisted and warped – that's dead, Idina. We're just people. People tied together because there's still some remnant of something that brings us back or makes us feel younger. We're just reminding ourselves that there was something good once and for some sick reason, neither one of us is smart enough to let go."

"You want to let go?"

"Don't you?"

Her eyes move to her feet as she bites her lips and shakes her head like she can't believe what I'm saying.

I look back out the window. The big red van next to the Kia is pulling out slowly – backing out just a tiny bit and stopping a few times before they're out of the spot and driving away.

My voice is quieter, mostly because I feel drained and not entirely from the medicine. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd feel better about myself if you left… or if your life would be easier if you didn't have to make time to sneak away with me for a night every few months."

There's that silence again – but this time it's her wheels that are turning. When her feet move her back to the side of the bed I can't help but look at her, not accusing her of anything with my stare, but helplessly wanting to know what she could say to turn any of this around. Somehow she always does.

She stares at the IV in my hand. " _Would_ you be happier?"

My hand reaches out and takes one of hers, and her arms unfold to let me have it. I answer by shaking my head and lacing our fingers together.

She sits back on the bed and leans in taking a kiss that she knows is always waiting for her. And even through the miles of shit that's piled between us, my eyes flutter closed on their own. In the quiet seconds that pass, I feel just a little better and a little worse at the same time, because what is love without confusion?

She pulls back, only to dot my lips with another, then my cheek before scooting closer and pulling me into her arms. Part of me wishes I didn't want to cuddle into her chest so badly, but I do. I wish I didn't want to feel her next to me, and I wish she didn't have every power over me that can make me hate her and fall in love with her so many times over. I don't think I could change it – at the same time I don't think I'd want to if given the chance. With all the pain and numbness, in the very least it hasn't been boring.

"You need to eat."

"You need to stop letting this happen." I gently run my fingers over where her bruise is under her hoodie.

She pulls back and looks at me. "I'm not the one in the hospital."

"Not yet."

Her eyes almost do a lazy roll that tells me I'm overreacting, but this has been for years. Not consistently, but it's happened every now and again. I never hear the story, if there is one or if he just gets angry and takes it out on her I'll never know, but it happens. I see the aftermath when the lights are dim and she thinks I can't see them and it makes me want to vomit. And if I had anything in my stomach at the moment I'm sure I'd be tempted to wrench it up to stop the horror bubbling there.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Her hand sits on the side of my face while her eyes are tracing different features. "You're _too_ thin. I hate it. It scares me."

" _This_ is what scares you?"

That small huff of a laugh falls out of my mouth again as I push her away.

She nods. "Obviously."

I shake my head, not knowing what else to do.

"What?"

"I don't know. I have no idea."

"Tell me."

My shoulders raise and fall unceremoniously. "This of all things… not.. not everything?"

"What do you mean?"

"The fact I'm a shell. Or I'm alone all the time. You're not worried about how _I_ am… just how I look to the rest of the world. If I look unhealthy people might put the pieces together? Is that it?"

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? If I was in the psych ward instead of the ICU would you be here right now?"

"Of course I would." Her voice has an unusual bass to it, like she means what she's saying. It's hard to believe it anyway. With everything that's happened between us, I don't know how to believe much of anything that comes out of her mouth.

I nod as my eyes go out the window again.

"Let's not do this." She sounds a bit defeated.

"Do what?"

Her hand is on mine but I don't look back. "I don't want to be like this. I want to make you feel better, if I can – make you happy."

"You did."

"You're phrasing everything like I need to ask questions to dig deeper – so you can tell me all the complexities of how awful I make you feel withou-"

"No." I cut her off, pulling my hand away. "You don't need to ask anything. You already know."

I hear her sigh before I feel her move closer. "I love you."

"Love you too."

I don't even look back at her. I don't know what to feel. I don't know if I could feel whatever emotion it is that would be appropriate here. Even her telling me again I don't feel anything other than that ever present ache she put there that I nurse every day.

The door opens and I look away from the window, intending to watch what happens when there's another person in the room – how her body language would change. Instead a small smile warps my face.

"Hey, Denny." I sigh, opening my arms for him.

He glances at Idina with an expression I can only describe as somewhere between contempt and irritation. He tries to hide it, but he's not as good an actor as he thinks he is. I can see his jaw stiffen before he walks into my arms, leaning in the direction opposite her and holding the flowers in his hand out so they aren't crushed.

We kiss each other on the cheek simultaneously. All the years we've been friends and all that we've shared we've become in sync on a few things. I love him like my brother – maybe a little more than my brother now because he didn't hate me when I told him about the married woman I'd been sleeping with for a decade. Not that my brother hated me when he found out. He just got quiet and said he didn't want the girls to know. He didn't know they found out before he did. We were all planning on keeping everything under wraps before Idina got her divorce. Walker even got used to my parents when she left again, and everything fell apart.

Now my whole family hates her. Including Denny. I don't blame them. Sometimes I hate her too, until I remember how much I love her and couldn't ever cut her off like I wish I could. With all she hurts me I still think it would hurt more without her.

"How are ya, doll?" His voice is always so calm and caring, even when he's irritated.

I smile as best I can and rub his arm. "I'm fine. Tired, but I'm not in any crisis."

His smile fades into something of a hard line like he doesn't agree with me before he glances toward Idina. "And how are you?" That one was a little more cold.

She nods, just barely making eye contact. "I'm well. How about yourself?"

His body tilts from side to side. "Worried about his one."

I know the look in his eye – like he wants to bitch slap her with his words. I wish he would. I wish someone would that would make her feel so bad that she actually divorces that idiot and would come back to me. And at the same time I don't want to. I want her to make the decision on her own.

She feels uncomfortable. She's squirming with him looking down at her because she knows how everyone who knew about us feels about her. She's going to bolt, and leave me again, but I'm not actually dying for her to stay now that Denny's here to talk me through my insanity – he hasn't done anything to hurt me, so I don't have quips for his points.

"I should go.." Her eyes find mine and she smiles a small apologetic smile.

I can only nod in return while my face keeps the same empty stare that occupies my expression so often.

She leans in and kisses my cheek and I let her – I lean into it. I wish she'd do it more often when it was just her and I.

"Text me?"

I squeeze her shoulder and nod again. "I will. Drive safe."

And with a rather uncomfortable half-smile toward Denny she's out the door. I called it.

"Whore." He puts the flowers down.

"Denny, don't…" I shake my head, playing with a thread on the itchy hospital blanket.

He sits where she was just a few moments ago and takes my hand in both of his. "I won't curb my opinion on her because you're in love with her. And you can't let her treat you like this."

"Like what? Like I've always let her treat me?" The smile on my face originates from somewhere – not entirely sure where. "Oh… why would I change something that's worked _so well_?"

"You're her doormat."

"So?"

"So that's not right."

"How's Mr. Boyfriend?" I turn back to him with a smile.

He's not amused. "He's fine. But you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not. If you were fine you wouldn't be here right now. We both know that, so do not try to tell me anything different, because it will make me angry."

I frown at him.

"What's going on."

"Nothing."

"Christi, really." His sigh is heavy. "I can't watch you destroy yourself. I'll call your mamma and she'll come up down here and kick your ass back into gear if I can't."

"Don't you dare."

"I will." He nods, looking me in the eye. "If you don't put on weight within the next few weeks I'm calling her and telling her everything."

My heart drops at that. "Denny… it would crush her."

"But she'd make it stop. At least for a while. I don't want to put that stress on her, but if it makes you better then I need to."

My eyes go back out to the window again. I don't know why I keep looking out there. Maybe I want to see something happy, or not see whatever's going on in here… If the psychology of it makes any sense I'd love to hear it if only to understand whatever's in my head a little bit.

"You deserve better than her."

"I'm not sure if I do."

"What are you talking about darlin'? You're-"

I level my stare and blink a few times. "I slept with her – _I_ was the one intruding on _their_ marriage. I think this is exactly what I deserve."

All he can do is shake his head before changing the subject so I don't have to again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may contain hints of questionable content. Nothing terribly graphic, but it may upset some readers. You are warned. You are also loved. If you or anyone else is in trouble in any way there are resources for you. Please Google any free numbers online, and there are people to help you. You do not need to, and you should not stay in a situation that is harmful to you, and if you know of anyone who is in a destructive environment, help them get out.
> 
> You are loved.

The next day they tell me I can go home. And although I don't have a home here, I don't argue with them. I just pick up my phone and text Idina.

_They're letting me go in an hour and a half. Can you come get me?_

And of course she gets back to me within the minute.

_Yes. Be there by noon_

It's almost a whole hour earlier than I need her to be here, but it's nice to have her helping me with my crap and laughing with her at the stupid questions they ask on the release papers. It's at times like those that I let my mind imagine things for a little while. Like we still live together, or that Walker is with Taye while she gets me out of here. And maybe I'd be in here for something stupid, like the knife slipping when I'm making dinner and I needed a few stitches on my hand.

But they wouldn't keep me in here overnight for something as silly as that, and she doesn't live with me. Walker probably is with Taye, but that's because that's his father, and they live in the same house.

No matter the case, I'm happy she's here in a way. I'm still glad I get to see her and I'm glad she cares about me enough to put her life on hold at times to come and spend time on me. I'm definitely not in the agony I was before, weather that's due to numbness or a higher tolerance, or being thankful for what I have I'm not sure, but I can say that I am without much of a doubt. I suppose I've simply accepted the fact that I was never meant to have the life I'd dreamed of. Maybe the fact I've found that crazy kind of love means you can only have so much happiness with them before your world gets crushed.

That sounds more dramatic than I meant it. Saying things like that makes me sound ridiculous, I'm sure.

By the time all my things are packed up – all brought by my assistant who is wonderful, but doesn't understand I don't need much of anything in the hospital other than my phone and my wallet for ID and insurance purposes. She's such a sweet girl – wonderful at her job but she likes to do everything above and beyond. I appreciate her, and she's become a lovely friend, but she's a little too much like how I used to be and it's scary looking at her sometimes.

And I was saying something… when we were done packing my things.

Damn tangents.

With my bag packed and all the papers filled out, the nurses coming to smile a goodbye, Idina put those absurd sunglasses back on and walked a little slower so she was in time with me. The car was out in front, and she threw my bags in the back before she opened the door for me to climb in the front.

She stops for coffee without having to ask me if I want any – of course I want some. And she remembers my order, and tries to tip the people before we pull away. I always have to remind her Starbucks doesn't take tips unless it's in the jar up front for everyone and not just the individual workers.

It's almost like we're married… we act like it when we're together most of the time. Other than when I feel the need to tell her that she's married to someone else like she doesn't know. Sometimes she just needs to be reminded. Just to remind her how much I hate it.

I don't know. I've given up logic years ago. It's gone now and I don't care to have it back. It would probably do more harm than good at this point.

I don't know where she's taking me. Not to her house, and I don't have an apartment here anymore, so probably a hotel. I don't know if she paid for it or if I did, since she has all of my information and she could easily have put it on my bill. I smile a little at the country station that's playing low in the car. She doesn't listen to it, so it's just for me. The thought comes into my mind that she may listens to it when I'm not around just to think about me. But she hums along to songs she knows, which she's not doing now, so maybe not.

I look out the window the whole way, letting her hand rest on my thigh. My hand falls over it and grips her fingers lightly.

Little moments. The perfection of these things that don't seem like a whole lot that always mean the world to me.

"Baby.."

My head swivels to look at her, a tiny grin making its way to my mouth – I love the way she says that. "Hmm?"

"We're here. Do you want me to check in and bring your stuff up or do you want to come in with me?"

And it fades again. I pat her hand. "No, you should check in alone. Just text me what floor we're on and I'll come up in a minute."

"Kris…" Her hand flips over and she laces her fingers in with mine. "You can come in with me, if you want to – it's okay."

"Everyone has cameras now a-days." I place a kiss on her cheek before getting out my phone and getting into my email. "Go ahead. I'll be up after you text me."

Out of my peripheral I see her open her mouth again, but she stays quiet and turns to go without another word.

Taye must already know where she is, or she wouldn't have offered. It's hard for me to admit it to myself, but I know it's true – that so much of us revolves around him. I would rather her be cautious and not hide things from him just in case, but it still hurts.

She must have made the reservation yesterday because it isn't even five minutes before I get her text saying we're on the fourth floor and that she'd wait for me by the elevator. I get out and lock the car before I head in and b-line for the elevator with my phone out, pretending to type something. It's amazing how well that technique works when you don't want people talking to you.

And there she is with my bag and the card for the room. I put a finger through her belt loop as we walk silently down the hall, still happily scrolling through emails I don't intend on reading any time soon.

As soon as we get inside she takes her hair down and the sunglasses off. Like it's her disguise or something.

I sit down on the bed and stretch out my neck, moving my shoulders back so they can crack.

"I hate when you do that." She gets behind me on the bed and starts to massage out the knots.

My smile comes delicately. "I know." Immediately I start cracking my knuckles and slip my shoes off so she can hear the popping in my toes.

"Ew."

"Should I stand up and do my hips?"

"Please don't." She just laughs. Her thumbs worked their way down either side of my spine and I feel myself beginning to smile.

"Fine."

Her palms start at my lower back and wiggle up slowly until her fingers are in my hair. My eyes close and she sweeps my hair to the side so she can get to my neck easier. Then her lips are there. First there are just little pecks, but she doesn't waste much time in finding little places to hold her lips for long moments.

It's not until she places one just below my ear that I pull away.

She looks at me for a second, her slight pout in place and I'm not sure if she knows she's wearing or not. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to. Not right now…" I shake my head lightly, not speaking above a whisper.

And her face tells me she doesn't understand.

I get turn toward her and place my hand on her knee. "We always…" Before I can rant about how all we do is have sex, I'm able to stop myself. "Just lay with me?"

Her face is still has that confused tinge to it, but she nods and scoots herself up the bed and I follow. She puts her arm out for me and I let my head rest right by her collar bone. Pretty soon her fingers are sliding through my hair and I remember back when this was a common occurrence – when we'd put Walker to bed but it was too early to fall asleep ourselves and we'd watch whatever was on tv. Sometimes we'd end up falling asleep on the couch, waking up to the gurgles coming from down the hall.

"I miss you." She whispers into my hair line. Her lips stay there, just resting. She drags her finger tips down my back and below my shirt, but she doesn't do it expecting anything. They stay there and make tiny lines over and over. I guess she remembers I like that.

I almost feel like crying, but I won't. I don't think anything good could come out of that. I don't know what to say back either. I miss her, but I've told her that a million times. I could say that I miss me too, but lord knows that wouldn't end well. So I simply stay silent and breathe in how she smells. It's different. Like she's using different shampoo or something. I can't place it.

"Are you comfortable?"

I nod. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I tilt my head up and she looks back down at me.

There are long beats of silence I just search for what to say, if there's anything to say at all. Maybe silence is best, but that doesn't stop the innate suspicion that's pulling me to the right words.

She doesn't look like she expects anything from me. She's just keeps her nails in motion, drawing tiny things on my skin while her eyes look like they are eliminating features to stare at one at a time.

Finally it comes to me.

"You mean the world to me."

The smile that she gives me reaches all the way up to her eyes, and it stays there even after only the ends of her mouth remain tipped up. Her hand leaves my back to trace over one of my eyebrows, then my bottom lip with her thumb. And the smile slips away. "Am I horrible?"

I shake my head. "You're human."

"Yeah, but I think I'm on the less than great spectrum of mankind."

"You could be better… but so could I."

She takes a huge breath, before biting her lips for a minute. "I could be better to you."

I lean in, kissing her softly – how I wish she would kiss me instead of the heated, rough way she likes to. It's like she thinks she can burn away all of the horrible memories if she gives me enough of them, but it only stings. I offer her the softest and sweetest one I can find, if not for her then for myself. That and to make her stop talking. I don't want to talk anymore. Our words just make us feel like all of the things that are wrong between us are worse. Not that they're good in any way, but they only get bigger when they're talked about.

I don't think we'd do any good in trying to fix things now. I have her in little sprints and she has her family and her bruises that she feels secure in, I suppose. There's nothing I can do aside from accepting the love that's available for me.

And with that thought, I decide to give her what she wants – my body moves over hers, each of my knees digging into the mattress alongside her hips. I only break our kiss to take my shirt off and then our lips are together again. Her hands are on me, and we know the drill from here – different and the same every time. There's not much effort anymore because we know each other too well by now.

We'll exchange little words and noises of validation, showing instead of telling and wasting hours in the only way we know how to without fighting or crying or both.

Then we'll go and pretend it never happened to anyone that's not us. Sometimes even to ourselves. If we're in the same city we'll see if we have time, but if one or both of us are busy no extra effort will be taken to see the other.

But I have her now. She has me and that's all we see in these moments.

At least it's all I see. I can't speak for her – I'm not sure why I ever try to.

* * *

 

I didn't know what time is was when I opened my eyes. There was just a whole lot of light and a strange absence of little blonde next to me.

I had to do a lot of groggy blinking before I tried to pick my head up, then in scanning the room my confusion only grew, helping the ever reliable knot in my stomach to rear it's ugly head and remind me how terrible a person I am. But I saw my clothes lying at the end of the bed, folded immaculately with my purse right next to it.

"Kris?" was shouted a couple times, but there wasn't an answer.

I peeked in the bathroom but again - no one. All of her things were gone. There wasn't a damn thing. No note, or message for me when I checked out. It was like she wasn't even there to begin with.

It wasn't until I was in the car on the way home I wondered if that was how she felt - if she woke up all of those mornings wondering if I was still there, wanting to say goodbye before I left, hoping to close her eyes and feel my skin next to hers, because that's all I wanted to do. I wanted to wake up with her and understand that love that I miss so much and that I've abused.

When I left all those times, it was to avoid that look in her eye when I said I had to go. I hadn't seen that change - the moment I let her know I'm leaving her again, in such a long time, yet it's like it's there all the time. That's the look that makes me want to jump off a bridge and kiss her face until she smiles like an idiot. I miss that smile. I want it back.

Now all I can think about is that smile. I feel like it's somewhere in the car with me as I stare off into space, working up the resolve to walk into my home.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not living my life. I don't feel things the way I should. Things just happen around me and I'm sort of present for it.

I pull the keys out of the ignition, holding my breath until I'm out of the car and have my purse resting safely on my shoulder. And even then I don't know if I want to let it out. My steps across the lawn and to the door ease it out of my lungs, but the heaviness still sits on my chest.

_Open the door._

I have to prompt myself. No one has any place to judge me – my son and his perception of the world is more important than superficial things I'll get over.

_He won't even notice you._

And there's no one there.

I put my purse down on the entry table, shoes off, phone in hand, then peek in the kitchen.

"Hi."

He doesn't even look up from the paper and his coffee.

I try and give a little smile back. "Hey."

Maybe if I go and get a cup of coffee he'll just sit there. Maybe we can read the paper together.

Except I don't read the paper. Not really. I look at it – I just like to look at the different shapes they make with the words – sort of like rectangles all over, but they're not. Because they're made of words.

I have a cup and I'm going over to the machine and he gets up.

I stop. I don't know what to do. My face doesn't do anything, not that I can feel it, but I look right at him. I don't feel afraid. I don't think I've been afraid after the first time, and now I just expect something any time we're alone. It's just nerves and a little bit of hoping he's in a good mood.

He might not even do anything. I mean, I've been gone before and it's been fine.

Then his lips are there.

I feel myself sigh into the contact out of relief. It doesn't last very long, but it's better than what I thought might happen.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. "You didn't come home last night."

"I know…" I nod. "I had to go to the hospital." Not a lie. Not really.

"Walker missed you."

Guilt.

"I missed him. Where is he?"

"Napping." One of his hands stays on my waist as he takes a small step back. His other hand comes up slowly and sweeps some hair back from my shoulder. I'm sure it would seem sweet if I didn't see his expression – if I didn't know that expression by now. He's angry, but he wants to draw it out. He wants me to apologize first, or openly admit I feel bad or something. I never know exactly what it is, but I know I'm not showing him what he wants to see just yet.

"He asked where you were, and I had to lie to him."

"What did you say?"

"That you had to work."

I nodded. Probably something he would have accepted. He likes Taye putting him to bed better than me anyway. I don't know. I'm probably just telling myself that.

"Were you with her?"

His voice is still low, like he expects some right answer that I can't give him.

All I can do is look down and nod a little.

But his hand is already across my face and I feel the sting next to my mouth before I can say yes or try to reach for an excuse.

I don't have a reaction anymore. My body brought the empty coffee cup up to my chest, both of my hands are pressing it there. That and my eyes just stay closed. My head followed his hand and it stays turned away from him.

And I don't know why I don't try to move – he's close but he's not holding me anymore. I could go run to Walker's room and crawl into bed with him because he would never do anything when Walker even had the chance to see. He's protected in both of our minds which I'm thankful for. Even that little thought makes me feel like I'm lucky. Which is strange at a time like this, I suppose.

"I thought we were done with that."

"Done with what?"

"Her. We agreed that she's not good for our marriage, right? We've discussed-"

"You discussed, I'm sure."

I can't help but jump as his hand makes contact with the cabinet by my head, but that's it. I let my eyes stay glued to whatever I'm staring at in the pantry – it's cereal or something. Something in a box.

"You said you two were over – we have a family."

"Yeah. We do. You have your harem of sluts, though – so let's call it even, yeah?"

I try to move around him, but he moves in front of me.

"How long has he been asleep."

"We need to talk."

"We shouldn't let him nap for more than two hours, now – he won't sleep toni-"

He leans in so I have to step back and puts his palms on the counter toward either side of me, staring at my face. I can feel his stupid breath on my chest, nostrils flared.

"Are we going to do this?"

I keep looking anywhere but him. I don't even feel like crying anymore.

"Idina."

"No." I didn't think that would come out like a whisper.

"Good. Can we sit down?"

I don't have time to nod before he's pulling out a chair for me. And I take it – why wouldn't I?

He takes his place again and sips the coffee. My cup is still empty and pressed to my chest. If I look at it objectively, I know how dumb it is. But nothing is nonobjective. Everything has bias strung along to it, and my life is no different.

He just keeps staring at me.

I guess I'm supposed to go first.

"I'm don't want to stop seeing her."

His jaw pulses. Maybe I do this on purpose? I could have told him what he wanted to hear, or just not said anything at all – but I made the choice to do the stupid thing.

"Hi, mommy."

I think I love that voice more than anything in the world – small but still a little gruff and gravely, half from sleepiness and half from being my son. And it's still sweet because he's small. I smile immediately in seeing him. He scratches his little afro and rubs his eyes.

I stand up without hesitation and go over to scoop him into my arms. "Hey, kiddo – were you good for daddy?"

He laughs and twists his fingers up in my hair. "Yup." He grins, sleep still drifting slowly away from him. His head falls to my chest. "Was you working?"

"Yeah, mommy had to do some stuff. I'm sorry I wasn't here to tell you ni-night. But I'll be here tonight."

"Okay."

He's content.

He's perfect, and that's what I endure for. He has the both of us and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

"Let's go put real clothes on, yeah?"

"Okay."

He wriggles out of my arms so he can walk, then takes my hand and leads me back to his room.

I don't look back. I don't want to. It's not important.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the late upload - yesterday was crazy for me, but crazy in a good way! I'm becoming a real adult! (After years of legally being one). So thank you for waiting - we're no where near the end. TRIGGER WARNING! And be prepared for tears, because I cried, so I feel I need to warn you.

I have mixed feelings about plane rides.

Maybe it should be relaxing or something, but all I do on plane rides is think – and Lord knows I don't need to think any more than I do. I don't want any alone time with my thoughts. Why else would I keep myself so busy? Yes, I love working but I have every moment filled, or as many as I possibly can. That's not just about loving work, that's throwing yourself into something to keep yourself occupied so you don't have to acknowledge the rest of your life.

So New York today and tomorrow, and maybe the next day, but I have to be back in LA by the weekend for another party.

Another mindless social event I can show my face and make verbal agreements I may or may not have time for, but I'll find the energy somewhere – most likely in the space I should use to sleep or 'recharge.'

I can't say that I like the parties. They're not awful. There's always alcohol and plenty of smiling faces that are always less than genuine, but they're smiles all the same. At least I'll have Denny for this next one – he always puts funny little comments in my ear and takes me home early before I can get myself into any trouble.

Maybe trouble isn't the best word for it. Mischief? Questionable circumstances? I don't know… every once and a while I'll end up taking someone home with me, or stealing a bottle of booze they're not paying attention to. Denny manages to rein me in and remind me I'm still me. He's one of the few people who can bring me back to reality, even if it's just threatening to call my parents on me, which still frightens me to death. The last thing I'd want to do is disappoint them. I still don't know if I did with Idina. I think she disappointed them, which somehow reflected on me and my judgment – especially because I haven't stopped seeing her, even though she's left me more times than I want to count.

And then I think about that baby.

I may miss him more than her sometimes. Not all the time. It's her arms I imagine around me and envisioning making breakfast for her. He pops into mind afterward when I want to strap him into the high chair and let him demolish scrambled eggs with his little fingers, or when I imagine him crying in the middle of the night and Idina bringing him in to sleep with us.

Suddenly, like every time, I realize Walker's talking and running around being a three-year old. In less than a year he'll be four and he'll have a wonderful birthday party with his parents there and all of his family, and I won't be mentioned. I won't get a phone call and I'll more than likely be either sitting by myself watching reruns or working on something I don't particularly care about.

And there it is – the lovely flight attendant with my pillow and ear plugs.

Now instead of doing circles in my head and feeling sorry for myself, hopefully I can fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up ready to distract myself further.

* * *

I don't know why I picked up the phone.

Numbers I don't know are usually off limits and immediately I ignore them. I don't know how many times we've had to change our numbers.

Maybe my mind was wandering and I just picked it up. And Denny being on the other end was probably a bigger shock than Kristin being in the hospital, which is a horrible reality I only now realize. I was confused to say the least, but I kept trying to sound as normal as possible, but honestly – it was the best friend of the woman who I've continuously let down over the past decade. He has every reason to harass me, but instead he invited me out to lunch.

And again, I don't know what came over me in agreeing to it.

I could tell myself that I just wanted a reason to get out of the house, but I could find anything to do. I didn't have to go to lunch with a man who probably hates me. So I guess it was for Kristin in some roundabout way?

As soon as we sit down he pretends to look through the menu – scanning over everything and flipping the panels far too fast to actually look at anything, then spouts out bullshit small talk. Which wouldn't be as bad, but we stood together, waiting for the table not two minutes ago tossing customary niceties back and forth.

"How are you?"

I shrug, glancing down to the front panel over and over again. "I'm fine." The picture of the large, colorful alcoholic beverage catches my eye more than once. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well." He smiles in that awkward forced sort of way and folds his hands in his lap, trying to look at me, but I can tell he'd really like to glare across the table and call me a piece of shit in all of the ways he can think of. And it's merited.

"How is the-uhm…" he gestures with his hand like he's measuring something small. "The little boy?"

Grasping at straws. He knows Walker's name.

Between my nerves running as high as they are and this guy beating around several bushes my patience runs out.

"Did you ask me here to make small talk?"

And his face falls. He shakes his head and smooths an eyebrow down. "No, I didn't."

"Great. So we should talk about whatever you're planning to talk about and make this just a little less awkward."

He nods.

I wait, but he just keeps sitting there like he doesn't know where to start.

"It's about Kristin."

He nods again.

"And… what?"

Finally there's some confidence and he sits up straight in his chair. "I think you should stop seeing her."

It's not in the tone I'm expecting – not like he wants to shove the words down my throat, but in real concern. Not that I agree. I'm offended. He's not in the relationship, he doesn't get to throw his opinion at me and expect me to just take it and roll with it.

But he keeps going despite the look of 'what the fuck' on my face. "For a little while at least."

I just shake my head and blankly look at the menu. "With all due respect, that's not your decision or your business."

"It's not. But it's what I think is best for my friend." He leans forward. "She's really miserable, and she thinks she deserves how you treat her – that's not right. She's such a wonderful person-"

"I know that." I don't know what else to do but pull my hair down and put it back up again. "Life is complicated, and I don't know what she's told you, but I'm sure there are things you don't know so you don't need to tell me like I don't know who she is."

"You don't know as much as you think you do."

"Oh, really." Between the nerves and not knowing how to get out of this conversation, everything on the outside manifests as anger. I drop the menu a little further away from me and cross my arms. "What is it that I don't know? That I'm a horrible person – I'm completely aware."

"It's not-"

"That I treat her like shit and she doesn't deserve it? I tear myself apart for that every day, and I don't need a helping hand."

"Idina, she-"

"I know she's wonderful. What do you think made me fall for her in the first place?"

"Fall for her?" His eyebrows go up and his head moves to the side just a little.

I'm sure if I were watching this from some outside perspective I would laugh at how blatantly gay he is, but I'm on the other end of the attitude. It's just fueling the irritation and self-loathing bubbling in me all the time.

He points at me like he's accusing me of murder. "If you'd fallen for her, maybe you would have shown it – you just stick around for some sick satisfaction. So you can keep her around to make you feel good, and still have a happy little family to personify this vision of perfection that seems so important to you."

"You don't know anything."

"No, you don't know anything. She tried to commit suicide last year – you didn't even notice and I'm not sure you would have cared because you left her and you keep leaving her and she's drowning."

And just like that the world is on its head.

"What?"

He looks down at his hands like he's said too much, but I'm sure it was on purpose to make me feel even worse. How could it not be?

My hand is over my mouth almost as fast as the tears rush to my eyes. I can't feel myself breathe – I don't know if I can breathe or if I should. I don't deserve air anymore. She tried to kill herself because of me. I didn't notice. I had no idea. She was going through something horrible and I wasn't there for her.

So much for feeling detached from things – I'm here and this feels like it's gouging at my insides with dull kitchen knives over and over again.

As soon as I realize his features changing I get my sunglasses and put them on. By the time my elbows are back on the table the waiter is at our side and Denny keeps his composure enough to ask for coffees. I grab my scarf while they exchanged words and hid behind it, not knowing how to keep my lip from shaking and I'm sure I can't keep wiping all of the tears away without calling attention to myself. Not that talking at each other as aggressively as we had been didn't do that for us, or having half my face inside a scarf indoors.

God, she tried to kill herself. She didn't want to live anymore and it was because of me. And her not eating…

"Hey… are you alright?" He asks with his voice in a strangely calm tone.

I just shake my head. Of course I'm not alright.

I feel like everything in my body is trying to eat itself or set itself on fire to punish me. I have to hold back the sobs and keep my breathing under control. Just in case I keep my voice low. "I don't think I've ever hated myself so much in my life." My words are just as strangled and gurgled from behind tears as I expected them to be. But the way it only makes this horrible feeling worsen I did not anticipate.

I'm fucking lucky we're in the corner, but still – we're in a restaurant. People could easily see me bawling over here.

He puts his hand on my arm but I pull it away and shake my head, trying to muffle the noises wrenching themselves from my body and lean toward the wall. I can't control it. There are some cries that don't give you a choice in how they're carried out. This is one of them, demanding it shake my whole body and make me feel like I'm going to puke. I'm sure my scarf is going to be disgusting after this.

I don't know how long I sit like that, but I'm able to catch my breath before it turns into an ordeal.

The waiter sets our coffee down but glances at me with a sympathetic look and scurries off.

And the look on Denny's face is still like he made a mistake, but he's sticking by it. Guilty but sturdy in his decision.

I wipe my face one more time before taking deep breaths and willing myself to hold the rest of the hysterics in until I'm safely in my car. "What happened."

His voice is still in that tentative concern it was before. "She overdosed." He's staring into his coffee cup, not moving to drink from it at all. "But her body rejected it and she just kept throwing up. She called me a few hours later and I took her to the hospital under the guise of her neck.. stuff – you know."

I nod, but I have to keep my eyes closed. I don't know why I asked. It doesn't matter the details, it just matters she wanted to, and enough to try and go through with it. I hate myself and the world I live in and all of my stupidity.

"The doctor was good; ran his tests and kept her overnight on fluids and whatnot and she was fine, but we didn't tell him it was intentional."

"She just accidentally takes way too many pills? 'Oops – I thought they were… fucking tic tacks?'" I laugh before sniffling and wanting to jump out the window.

He shook his head. "She fed him some crap about being on her ambien and not remembering taking the pills until she came to a little more and found the bottles open after she threw up."

"And he believed it?"

He just shrugs and shakes his head like he's disappointed with my joking. But that's how I do the horror of sadness – I joke. That's what Kristin does too, as far as I've seen. He shouldn't be surprised or offended in any way by how I'm acting.

And thinking about what she would do… God, I hate crying. I hate myself. I made all of this dumb shit happen. I don't know how to make the tears stop. All I can do is hold my breath and squeeze them back. I dip my head down to hide my mouth under my hand again.

His hand is on my elbow again.

I look back up and wait for whatever he has to say, more than likely knowing what it'll be.

"I think you should just let her be for a while. Let her find herself again. If you and your husband get a divorce, or split up for good.. or whatever – sure, start seeing her again, but not right now. I really think she needs to breathe and not constantly think about you and if you'll call or not. And… do you know.. what I'm talking about?"

I just nod. Maybe he's right.

Obviously I've led her this far and she's only been dumped into one heartbreak after another. I can understand how her losing this weight and the whole fainting thing would be the last straw.

"Are you doing okay?"

All I can offer is a shrug, but trying to smile, even in jest just makes my chest hurt more. I take a large drink of coffee, almost wanting to spit it back in the cup when I realize I didn't put any sugar or anything in it. But I don't – I just take it. Lord knows I should punish myself in any measure available, even as small as the bite in coffee I don't want.

"It's not my business, and I don't want to push my nose where it doesn't belong, but I'm worried for you too."

I shake my head. "Don't be."

He squeezes my arm a little and scoots forward in his chair. "Kristi's confided in me about your… situation. You can get out without causing a media storm around it, Idina. We have really good lawyer friends"

"I'm not ready yet – thank you, though."

He nods and pulls his hand away.

And suddenly I'm not crying anymore. The focus is on me and I can go back to being numb for a little while.

But I look back and he's still looking at me. Probably pitying me.

I take a final shaky breath and lean my elbows on the table. "If I back off, you have to tell me how she is. Please." There are the tears again. Just waiting for me to let them take over again. I try to blink them away and finish a damn thought. "Obviously I'm shit at being there for her so you have to keep an eye on her an-and make sure that doesn't ha-happen again. And that she's eating.." I start crying again. Half because I'm not the one there for her, and that I'm agreeing to letting her go for an extended period of time.

He just nods and looks at me – like he can't believe it.

"God, I hate myself. I'm the reason. It's my fault she… I can't even fucking say it."

There's a sympathetic smile for me on his face as he shakes his head. "You among other things. She's been working so much and I don't think she understands who she is without whatever it is that's between you. It's been so long since she's been by herself."

"I love her, though." I nod, having to wipe my face again. I'm sure it'll be raw beyond the help of lotion by the time we leave. "I really do. I've never lied about that."

Another smile – this time a warmer one, but it burns. "She loves you, too. But she loves you more than she cares about herself and that's not healthy."

I nod and add sweetener and a couple shitty creamer packs to my coffee. "I know." I take a big drink, hoping to have my body focus on something other than making more tears. "I'll end it. For now. Until I find an out.."

"Will you let me know… now that we have each other's number. Just so I can check on her."

"Yeah, I can do that." I take a breath and will myself not to cry. "You have to make sure she doesn't try it again – when I tell her."

He shakes his head. "I told her I would call her mother if anything happened again. She's terrified of hurting her parents, so I'm almost positive she won't."

"I can't do almost."

"I'll check on her."

There's a silence that passes over us. We're conspiring. Planning the life of a person who's not either one of us and I don't know how to feel. I don't know what's going through his head, and I haven't known him long enough to guess. If it were Kristin, she'd be wandering her mind and not caring if I had the next thing to say or if we sat in silence for hours. God, I'm missing her already.

"I apologize for the other day… at the hospital."

"Don't." I stop him, shaking my head. "I get it."

"I just want what's best for her."

Fucking tears.

"Good." I turn my eyes up and try to minimize the water. "I'm glad she has someone like you around. Lord knows I'm no good at being there for her."

He leans over and covers my hand. This dude and touching… I don't fucking know but it makes me want to cry more. "If you need to.. talk to someone, really – it won't bother me a bit-"

A tightness eats away at my chest and I pull away, gathering my crap and shaking my head. "No, just watch out for Kris. Thank you for.." I shrug, feeling frantic all of the sudden. I throw a few bills on the table and get my sweater. "I'm sorry – I've got to go, but I'll… ya know." I take another drink and give an awkward wave as I feel another round of tears. "See ya."

And I bolt.

I speed walk to that door as fast as I can and get into my car and I pour all of it out. All of the hate and self loathing, and the pitying myself for not getting to see her, depriving myself of the small happiness I get at seeing her face and remembering what it felt like when it was just her and I and nothing that felt like it would crush us and the world at the same time. Or thinking of her holding my son, or painting our bathroom blue even though she hated it. I end up crying harder than I thought I would and I have to open up the door and let my breakfast land on the pavement.

I hate this world and all of my decisions in it.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I apologize for the lateness again. I'm dumb. I told you guys this would happen! But Here is the next chapter :) Thank you all for the wonderful feedback.  
> You are loved.

Thank you, Denny.

Of course you have to wait until I'm in the car on the way to your place to call and say you aren't feeling well.

I would have accepted a text, so long as it was at least an hour earlier, but now I have to tell the driver to turn and go the opposite direction, and go to the party. I want you to know that in this moment I hate you, and I don't want to see you for a week or two because I will be a royal bitch. You would have made tonight so much less boring and now you've gone and fed me to the wolves.

The driver's irritated but I don't know if I care. I can't feel sorry for him over feeling sorry for myself that I have to go to one of these dull Hollywood get-togethers unaccompanied. It would be a different story if I were performing, but no – just some people getting together and gnawing on each other's ears over who's doing what, why there's a reboot of something, what Meryl's working on next and who's on board with her.

Very few people will make the venture to talk to me. And on the occasion they do, it'll be someone younger gushing over Wicked or Glee, because obviously I've done nothing else of worth in my career worth talking about.

But I'll smile and sip on one too many drinks and wait for things to die down before going home and passing out on the couch, probably in full makeup and in the borrowed outfit. I might have to pay for it later, but I'm fine with that – more wardrobe pieces. Clothing is fun.

And of course, as soon as I walk in, there's chatter everywhere covering a layer of music with a little base in it. There are girls closer to the DJ dancing.

One almost looks like Idina. Like back in the day when we first met – I get a clear shot of her legs which look just as toned, and her hair is the same length… maybe a little darker or it could just be the lighting. But on second thought, she has much more rhythm than Idina's ever had. I mean, she can clap to a beat for the most part, but she's the most adorable sort of clumsy and I love it.

The woman makes eye contact so I pretend to look at her outfit. All I get back is a dirty look and a hair toss.

And look – an open bar!

The only acceptable kind if you ask me. And before I know it I've drank through three glasses of whatever tasted good, deemed by a very cute bartender, who couldn't have been more than twenty five and looked like he was still working his way through college. So far there've been a little gay boy and two of his friends who noticed me and came up and decided to tell me how much they loved me on glee.

I don't know who lets these kids in here. Who's idea was it to invite younger actors to industry parties? They're going to audition for everything anyway, it's not like you can't wait until they actually get some work and _then_ come and bother the seasoned people.

Some producers I've worked with have come and said hello, asked how I was and whatnot, but they were short exchanges at best.

It's times like these that I wish I had the excuse of someone to go home to. And the horrible part is it's not always Idina I imagine – it's anyone. Someone who'll smile and wait for me to get into my night clothes before snuggling me and falling asleep, not wanting to talk so we could instead over breakfast the next morning.

Of course, most of the time it's Idina. I think about what it would be like if I had to sneak into the house and close the door really quietly so I wouldn't wake up Walker. And for some reason I've been working in a pregnancy into the whole thing. Like Idina would be expecting our first and I'd bring her in some water or tea or something when I came home, or that we'd adopt a baby. I just want a baby. I want to be a mommy and I've wanted it with her for so long…

But the knot in my stomach grows. I'm getting to old for it. I keep telling myself if I don't work up the courage by 50, I'll give up wanting one, because it'll be way too much for me by then.

"Hi."

I look to my left and a scruffy looking man in a suit is smiling at me, interrupting drink number four.

I just smile before extending it to the bar tender too, he's mixing something right in front of this guy, so maybe he just ordered something – he didn't just come over to flirt with me while I'm feeling sorry for myself.

"Don't you hate these things?" His smile is nice.

I raise my glass. "Oh, believe it."

He extends his hand and I take it with half of the smile I gave before. "I'm Dana."

"Dana?" Weird.

He nods. "My parents are awful people. Not really – but as far as naming me goes."

"I guess so." I laugh a little, and it's only half fake, to my surprise. "I'm Kristin. Not half as interesting, right?"

"But far more fitting."

He lets go of my hand and grabs his drink.

I just shrug. "Well, Broken Arrow isn't known for breaking tradition."

"Broken Arrow…"

"Oklahoma." I finish.

"Right." A smile that's far too smug appears on his face. "Where the wind comes sweeping down the plains."

"Is that the only line you know from that musical?"

"Yes ma'am, but I still thought it might impress you a little." That smile's genuine.

At almost the same moment I notice I'm smiling back. I'm flirting. Not completely out of the ordinary, but usually I have to do so intentionally.

"Did it work?"

Idina pops into my brain again, holding a newborn and smiling at me. Her hair's pulled up into a top knot, Walker's passed out next to her on the couch but she has a spot waiting for me on the other side of her.

I offer a tight-lipped smile and pick my drink back up. "Almost." I nod at him politely. "It was nice meeting you, Dana."

He looks a little deflated, but smiles anyway. "It was my pleasure."

Not a moment after he turns to go, he stops himself and swivels back toward me. "Could I ask to see you again? If that's not too forward."

"Maybe we'll run into each other." His slight nerves almost get to me. "Who knows? The business isn't all that big. Everyone knows everyone."

I give him one final polite smile before taking my drink and walking over to the dancing and complementing the woman's shoes. She grins and acts overly polite and gives me a matching complement on my outfit and that's the end of the exchange.

I'm far more bored than I thought I'd be, so I'm everywhere – talking to everyone about anything.

Half of the people here don't even know who I am, and less than that are interested in hiring me for anything. I don't like big parties like this. I would much prefer just going through my manager or my agent or whoever wants to find me something, but no – apparently I have to keep up appearances so people don't forget I exist. That or I could go back to broadway… or something off broadway just to keep me going. I'd love to have that kind of schedule again, but the question is what would I play? There aren't a ton of parts for women my age that are any type of interesting. And time is running out a little faster than I'll ever talk about for me to play someone younger than I am.

And I'm depressed again. What with thinking about how old I am and my lack of attention from any party, I'm back at the bar, ordering drink number god knows what, and flirting with the kid passing me my alcohol.

He's young, but I'm a little bit famous, so I could take him home… back to the hotel. Whatever.

Then the other guy walks by.

I feel the huge smile on my face more than I'm controlling it in any way. "Well, it's you again!" I giggle and pat the stool next to mine.

He smiles back but suspiciously. "Are you drunk?"

"No! No, of course not. I'm a lady…" I take a second to eye the women at his side. One looks like a colleague, the other two look like groupies. What did he say he did again? "Ladies just get a little wobbly."

"Oh, of course… Excuse me for my misnomer."

Well, look at the vocabulary on him. Charming.

He squints at me one more time before shooing away the women around him, who all but pout their asses off before sulking away. Then he sits down next to me and smiles warmly. It's how my neighbors used to smile at each other and my parents… and me or my brother whenever they talked to us. Polite… not invasive.

"I think you should have water anyway." Still with the smile.

"Oh, you do?" I raise my eyebrows and lean forward a little.

I know how to flirt. I do it really well, just not usually this obviously. But I'm half drunk and sad, and miss the person I really want to flirt with, so this random stranger will do just fine for now.

He leans forward too. "I do." And he's back, sitting at the angle he was before and waving down the bar tender for water. And in another sly motion he pushes away my drink while making heavy eye contact.

"I see that."

He nods. "Good. You don't need anymore – And I'm bigger than you so you can't get it back."

"Well, can I have coffee instead, at the _very_ least?"

He shrugs. "You can hydrate yourself first… then I'll get you a coffee."

"You'll get me one?" I place my hand over my heart like I'm just touched he would do such a thing.

"Sure."

I push his shoulder. "You're so sweet."

"I try."

"It's working, darlin'." I wink at him.

His jaw goes to the side a bit like he's thinking while he laughs at me – or with me. I don't know which yet.

A bottled water appears in front of me and I sip at it, still looking at D… fuck, what was his name.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"I'm sorry… I forgot your name."

"Dana."

I hit myself on the forehead. "Right! We talked about that…"

"Have you had any food?" He asks the question a little louder this time.

I shake my head. "No, food and I have an on-and-off relationship."

He rests his hand on his chin – just listening. Not judging me like I'm sure most would. "That's not a good thing."

"Are you gay?"

This is the point I realize just how drunk I am. When my filter turns off completely.

I earn a bigger laugh than I thought I would get. He just shakes his head anyway. "If I were gay I'd know more than one line from Oklahoma."

I point at him. "Right… and you'd know who I was."

"I know who you are." His eyebrows furrow like I couldn't tell.

"You do?"

He nods. "Despite your size, you happen to be very hard to overlook."

"Are you flirting with me?" I smile big, blinking slowly.

His head tilts from side to side. "Maybe a little…"

I scoot closer to him on the stool and let my eyes fall half-shut as I play with his tie. "Only a little?"

Before I look back up, that ugly thought pops into my head – What's Idina doing? How is she? What would she do if she saw me right now?

Flashes in my head show me images of her coming in and just taking me away and we'll go somewhere and she'll just kiss me, and keep kissing me instead of taking our clothes of, she'll just put her lips on mine and then she'll tell me the next morning she's not going back… and we would get an apartment again and sign Walker up for school together.

Then I look back up. I push all the thoughts to the back of my mind and I smile at him, hoping the longing I feel in the pit of my stomach doesn't show in my face. He seems nice. He could be a fun time. He could get my mind off of the millions of thoughts about her for a little while.

But he just stills my hand and smiles compassionately back at me. "You seem a little too… wobbly, for me to pursue anything tonight." Then he shrugs and hands me my water. "I'm not that kind of guy anyway."

I take a sip and look away. "Oh."

For some reason, my brain tells my eyes that now is the perfect time for water works. I keep taking deep breaths and blinking quickly, and it's only keeping them at bay a little bit.

"If I get you a muffin or something, will you eat it?"

I nod back, but keep my head turned away so maybe he won't notice.

But he keeps his eyes on me for another good moment before ordering something or other. I can't really hear him and I'm focusing too much on trying to look normal, although I feel like I hate myself and the world. I just want to forget. Rejection never really has been my color.

Then his hand is on my shoulder… or just beneath it, just resting it on my arm lightly like he's trying to comfort me. "I'm not going to ask what's wrong because it's not my business, but do you have someone to talk to?"

I nod again, wiping at my eyes.

He hands me a napkin, not before he checks to see if it's clean. "Good."

"Why are you so nice?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure… human compassion? I don't like seeing people in pain?"

"Is it that obvious?" I laugh through my tears.

The bar tender drops off a cookie, and smiles at me before looking at Dana and raising his eyebrows.

"Not that you're crying?" He smiles at me gently, then checks all around us. Then he stands and offers me his hand. "Maybe it's a better idea to get going – I don't think you want anything in a magazine about this tomorrow."

I scoff and shake my head. "Not me – I'm not famous enough for that sort of thing."

He grabs the cookie, then takes my hand and starts to lead me out. "Better safe than sorry…"

All the while he's leading me away, it's never forceful. He's just a gentleman about it all, holding the door open for me, making sure I have all of my things, my coat.

And I think how Idina never brings a coat. If she does it wasn't her decision – someone else brought it for her because she's an idiot and thinks it'll be fine and it won't be that cold, or she's just going to be inside for the most part anyway.

Shit like that pops into my head now and then. Or a lot.

Even when he hails a cab for me, and gets in, and then asks me where I'm staying so he can relay it to the driver, she's in the back of my mind.

I'm not as drunk as I was, or maybe as I made myself believe I was so I could flirt my ass off and distract myself from how I feel all the time. I'm not as drunk as I'd like to be to sleep with this guy, but he seems nice enough. So I hug his arm, and pretend it's less muscular so it might be hers.

And before I know it, I'm in an elevator.

"What floor are you?"

Maybe I am that drunk?

I smile. "Are you coming up?"

"Can you make it there by yourself?"

"Why would I need to?" I stumble into him a little on purpose, giggling and hoping he'll fall for it.

He catches me and gets in the elevator with me. He points to the buttons and I press my floor, humming along with the music and glancing back to him every so often.

But when we step out and I find my card to unlock the door, he extends his hand like I'm supposed to shake it.

"It was nice meeting you, Kristin."

I pout my lip. "Are you leaving?"

He nods. "I think that's what's best."

"You don't want to come in?"

For the first time all night he levels a very serious stare. "It's not about what I want – it's about respecting you. I don't want to take advantage of the state you're in."

"That's weird. That never happens to me." I deadpan. I'm trying to be funny, but the reality of it doesn't carry the humor it should.

He digs in his pocket for a moment. "Here-" he hands me his card. "If you remember me tomorrow, you can call me. I'd love to take you out sometime… maybe for food, instead of alcohol." He smiles like it was a joke.

And still it leaves me sort of baffled.

I didn't know gentlemen still existed. I thought it was a dead language or a lost art or something like that. But there he was smiling at me with compassion and understanding, and making sure I got to my room alright, without trying to get in my pants.

I just nod a little, half because I'm in shock and the other half because I don't know if this is really what he's like. But why would it be an act? Who would go so far to try and convince someone of their character, NOT to take advantage of their work and reap the benefits if it weren't real?

He leans in, kisses my forehead and backs away. "Have a safe night." He waves after he presses the down button on the elevator, and for some reason I can't stop staring.

I have to wonder if he's real. If I imagined the whole thing. If I'm going crazy, I don't think anyone would be surprised, but really?

As soon as I get inside, I take my shoes off and then my coat and get on my phone. I don't notice the card still in my hand until it's getting in the way of my drunk texting.

_I miss yourface. love you so much, talk to me sooon._

I go to sleep, almost sure it was Dee I texted, I hope she sees it in the morning and smiles.

However when I wake up, the card is stuck under my cheek, and when I peel it off of my skin I smile to myself.

My head hurts, but I think I'll call him. He was nice. If nothing else it'll be another connection in the business and a free meal.

And maybe a nice distraction.

* * *

_I miss yourface. love you so much, talk to me sooon._

For the first time, one of her texts makes me cry instead of rolling my eyes or laughing. Especially her drunk texts. Instead of picturing her giggling to herself while sending them I keep imagining her sobbing and crying herself to sleep and I can't stand it.

Most of the time they bother me, and I wonder where she is and who she's with… if she took anyone home with her. It makes my stomach turn but I don't expect her to devote herself to me, not after everything.

It just hurts more now, knowing that I can't go and talk to her, or see her. I mean, I could – but I won't. Denny was serious, and I agreed with him out of more than just guilt. Guilt is what made me agree initially, but it didn't take much thought for it to occur to me that if I wanted her, then I would have to set everything up and wait for her, not the other way around like it's been for so long. It's not her job to wait around for me, it's my job to show her she's worth it, and I've done a shit job of that.

Yesterday was day one. And today it has to continue.

I stand in the bathroom before anyone is up again, strip down to my underwear and start cataloging. My ribs on the left side are still a little purple and there's clear bruises where his fingers dug into my arm a few days ago.

They get sent to my email from my phone with the date on them. Later I'll go and make sure they're in their own file and I'll print them out when I need to.

Baby steps.

I don't exactly know how they'll come into play, but I know they'll help.

Part of me feels dirty, like I'm doing something devious to hurt my husband. It makes me feel like I'm plotting against him and trying to frame him for something. Then the logical part of my brain, the very small part that's barely alive, has to remind the rest of me that I need to pull myself out of the Stockholm's I've developed and be the kind of woman I was raised to be; strong and independent, and not blaming myself for the marks on my body. I'm not perfect, but I don't deserve these, and I don't deserve to be treated like this.

But even in whispering it to myself as I put my pajamas back on I sound like I'm trying to convince myself instead of my intention of a pep-talk.

It takes all I have to erase her message and turn my phone off.

I go and make breakfast and put on a brave face for my son, and even more so for myself when his father wakes up.

Baby steps.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, whatever – you're horrible and I will never forgive you."

"I was sick!"

"Boo, you whore."

I hear a sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm supposed to be the one with the mean-girl quotes."

"You don't have dibs – I can use them too."

There's a pause, like he's thinking, and I don't like it.

"Is this still Kristin?"

I roll my eyes. "No, it's Lindsay, can't you tell?"

"Lindsay didn't say that line."

"I don't care, I'm trying to be funny. Just laugh at me so I can feel better about myself."

"You seem different."

"I am different. I'm older."

"Everyone is always older, but you... You seem different. You _sound_ different."

"I slept really well last night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Why would I lie about sleep? Other than making an excuse…. Sometimes I hate he knows me so well. "No. I don't know. I feel… lighter."

"How come?"

"I'm not sure."

"Are you lying?"

"No."

"Did something happen at the party."

"No… well…" Damn it. "No."

"Oh, you fibber – you tell me right now!"

"Nothing happened!"

"What did you do? What did you get into? Did you sleep with someone."

I wish. "No."

"Did you get arrested?"

"Don't you think you would have heard if I was arrested? I'm too old to be arrested, Denny."

"What happened!"

"Oh my goodness! I got a little drunk, I danced, I flirted, this guy gave me his number, I went back to the hotel – done. End of story. Nothing hap-"

"Who's number? What guy? Is he cute?"

"Why would you care? You're in a loving, committed relationship, which I hate you for."

"Oh, hush – I meant for _you_."

"Oh, some… actually I don't know what he does. He didn't tell me or I don't remember… or both."

"Do you still have it?"

"The Number?... yeah? I think so."

"You should call him."

"Eh."

"Why not?"

"Because maybe I don't want to – he didn't sleep with me so it's not worth it."

"Well maybe you two could actually _date_ – why would he give you his number, and NOT try to get in your pants."

"Do you know we speak and think almost exactly the same way."

"You're so lucky. Now, call him."

"But we're having such a riveting conversation."

"I love you – call him. Then call me back."

And the line goes dead. If he were here I'd slap him.

No… I wouldn't. But I'd want to just as bad. Yet I still listen to him. I don't even wait a whole minute staring at my phone before I start digging through my purse for the little piece of card stock.

* * *

New York has always felt like home.

Aside from the fact I grew up there… not in the actual city, but around. Long Island barely counts but I mean the actual New York. Manhattan, and Broadway, and right in the thick of it – it reminds me of everything good that has happened to me and all of the good I've done, granted it's hard to pull up examples when you're as self-deprecating as I can be most of the time.

But this time is different. It feels like I'm carrying all of my baggage and stupidity back here with me, and it feels dirty and wrong.

Even in seeing Anthony, which I thought would make everything better because he was the only level-headed one of us last time, all I could think was even he couldn't make this right. I've fucked my whole life over and now I'm here, avoiding everything for the millionth time and pretending I'm taking steps in the right direction when in all actuality, I'm probably only stalling until I can fall back in the routine and ignore all of the things that I've come to realize.

The worst part in all of it is that with moving and showing Walker all of the places in the city we loved so much, Taye hasn't had much time alone around me, which means I'm running out of things to photograph. I don't want to give him reasons to do anything, and I don't want to keep this horrible string of circumstances going any longer than it needs to, but I find myself not knowing what to do. If he's not being violent, how will I leave? And if things are getting better would I need to leave?

Except I think of Kris.

And I want to hold her and have her next to me – I want to make sure she knows she's wanted and that I want her.

It's dizzying. The way everything is, and the fact that it's become so out of control. Not that it's ever been simple. I don't know why but my head keeps turning back to that day I told her I was pregnant, and how she was so ready to give up everything – she was just waiting for me with open arms and prepared to raise a baby that wasn't ours with me because she loved me. And I've never done anything so selfless for her.

I don't know if that's where she broke, or if it was earlier or later. Maybe when I left after he hit me the first time. When everything was so good.

I think that might have been why I left. Everything was too good and I couldn't handle it. I knew it would crash and burn sooner or later so I got out before I was the one without an option. And now that I say it I want to be punched about as hard as anyone could. Put me in a coma so I don 't have all of these fucking decisions and things running through my mind all the time that make me sick. I left her, but worse than that I took Walker away from her. I know that's what hurt her more than losing me.

I'd been leaving her over and over again for years. That time she lost a family. That was the one thing she's always wanted one of her own, so much more than me.

Maybe that's why I left? Maybe I felt without realizing that I was just part of what she'd been waiting for all of her life – that it wasn't just us anymore, she wanted the whole package. But at least I was part of it. She still loved me, and trusted me and here we are. She's underweight and miserable, and I'm plotting which way would be best to let her go again.

My life is a fucking mess.

* * *

He's a gentleman at heart.

I don't know where along the line I actually started enjoying myself, but I have. Granted in the past two months, there's only been a handful of dates, but he's nice to me. He likes to hear what I think about things, and he has opinions and things to say back to me. We have conversations, and he makes me think.

Needless to say Denny was overjoyed when he pried the information from me. And yes, I fought it, but I like him.

There. I said it and no one can judge me for it.

I didn't mean to, but I do. I like being around someone who flirts with me mercilessly and takes all of the eye-batting I have to give, and can still manage to share thoughts, opinions, views on things. And we see a ton of things very differently, but there aren't ever arguments. We just talk. Sometimes it turns into loud conversation, heated dialogue at moments, but it always ends in laughter or learning something. It's refreshing.

He's a producer, too – he produces movies and things which I find the decision making process to tedious to do too often, so I respect him for that. And he keeps saying he could never be an actor so he respects me in that sense.

But he hasn't kissed me yet.

I've kissed him a couple times, but he keeps it very chaste and smiles before offering me his arm or taking my hand. So I'm either vastly unattractive, or he wants to wait until marriage, which I'm not prepared for. Marriage or waiting. Either, at least in regards to him, I don't really feel like entertaining the idea. He's a man, and no matter how much of a gentleman he wants to be, he's not Idina and he's not going to last much longer if he doesn't switch things up.

Even then he won't last a whole lot longer. I only play the waiting game for one sociopath and she's my everything.

Even so, I don't know if sleeping with him is part of the plan anymore. Maybe he just wants to be friends. Of course I'm too afraid to ask because I don't really want that. I want to feel wanted by this dashing son of a bitch, if only for a few weeks before I get bored and make up some lame excuse about being too busy for a relationship and get on with my life. Sort of. What life is there to get on with again?

And that thought sounds less and less appetizing the more I think about it. Maybe I'll take it slow – see what he has up his sleeve, and if it's friendship, I guess I'll take it. At least it's something to keep me busy in idle moments, and he pays for food.

And he has some cute scruff going on.

Normally I hope these schmucks are boring so I don't feel bad about getting a little attention and shrugging them away. This one is interesting. He can take my mind off of her for more than a second or two. Sometimes hours if we keep talking.

But my mind goes right back to her once I'm home. Wanting her to pet my hair and give me her signature kisses – the tiny pecks that slowly turn into lingering caresses and back again. I still miss her, which is the telling thing. He's not on my mind more than she is or anywhere close to an equal playing field.

Maybe that would be sad in a healthy person's mind.

* * *

Give me a musical with curse words and confusion and I'm in love.

I'm home, and finally something feels right. Even if Walker's not with me all the time, and even if I'm ignoring my problems, I feel like I'm a part of something. And something good. Something I like that I don't have to tip toe around and make sure everything is perfect. We have time to make it perfect, and oh thank god I don't have to do choreography. I mean blocking… to music. That doesn't count as choreography. I'm glad someone understands that I do not need to dance, at any point, ever. I have no rhythm and I'm fine with that so long as people don't make me dance. Choreography or not, I'm not very good. Months and months of practice only dull the impending cringing of the audience.

But I love this one. I'm excited that my first time back is something that I'm really interested in.

And it's like family – falling right back into something that I'm comfortable with and where people understand the nonsense that comes out of my mouth.

"Alright everyone, good work – let's take a fifteen, and grab a water and we'll come back."

Without questioning I obey and grab a bottle before taking myself and drop to the ground next to my bag. I glance over the next few scenes and my notes from the last few nights of obsessing over what I want to do with my face and my voice on certain lines – mine or while someone else is saying a line.

The phone rings, and I don't even look at the screen before answering.

"Helloooo?" I sing song, still scanning over words.

"Hi.."

I almost notice the laugh and the smile in her voice before I'm jolted by the fact it's her. I gulp and look around me on instinct – I shouldn't care who hears me talking to her. I shouldn't do a lot of things but we've established my head is pretty fucked and there's not really any going back on it now.

"Hey – I didn't- I…" I stumble. I smile before wanting to cry and running through the emotions. "I didn't look at the caller ID. I –uhm. How are you?"

She laughs and I take a breath.

"I'm alright. How are you?"

"Tired. And busy – but it's the good kind of busy/tired that kinda… makes everything seem less tiring than it is."

"Yeah?"

I nod, though I'm aware she can't see it. "Yeah. Rehearsals. I told you about the musical. The thing with Anthony – we started rehearsals and it's really good."

"Good, I'm happy for you. One big thing to another." She sounds amused, like I'm entertaining her with my half nervous ramblings.

She doesn't know why I'm nervous. I think that's a good thing because if she knew she would either be horribly sad, or homicidally angry with me. Or a mix of the two.

I don't know what she'd be. I can't tell her and find out. I almost hoped I could just avoid talking to her and not tell her I was going to leave her alone for a while. Just leaving things to cool off and carrying through with everything while she's occupied with other things would be a hell of a lot easier for me. But, no. I have to answer the stupid phone without looking like an idiot.

I shrug anyway. "We don't know if the Disney thing is going to be big yet or not."

"Oh please. It'll be huge."

"If we're lucky – it could go down in smoke."

"I don't think so, I think it'll be wonderful."

She sounds so happy.

"I missed your voice." The joy falters just a little, but it's more contemplative I guess. It's not gone.

I can't help but smile. "I miss _you_."

"How is everything? At home, I mean."

I slump against the wall and cross my legs. "It's better. For the moment at least."

There's that awkward silence that flashes in bursts through our conversation when things like this come up. I don't know why we keep doing it to ourselves.

"What about on your end?"

"Hmmm… busy. Like always, though. But I'm alright. I'm entertained, I suppose."

"You like being busy though. It makes you happy."

I can almost feel her shrug across the phone line. "I guess…"

"Doesn't it?"

"Business makes me forget how lonely I am, so I guess I like it for that reason – sure."

Well, fuck.

An image of her passed out and clutching her bottle of sleeping pills burns itself into my brain and I can feel the water and granola churning uneasily in my stomach.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean for it to sound like that." There's almost some humor in her tone which I can't comprehend at the moment.

"You don't have to be sorry." I sigh.

"I pick crappy times to forget my filter. Or maybe I'm just really bad at phrasing?"

I shake my head. "I'm just shitty at giving you things like that to say."

"Really, I'm good. I feel good."

It sounds real. Like she's doing better. Maybe without having me there to shake up her otherwise well-balanced world, she's better off? Maybe I am the problem.

"Are you going to that ten-year thing?"

I gulp down the knot in my throat. "What ten-year thing?"

"The thing in the magazine for Wicked's ten-year anniversary. I got an email for it this morning."

"Oh.. I haven't checked mine yet."

"You probably have one too, then."

I smile, blinking fast. "Ten years… that means we're getting old, hu?"

"Older? Sure… don't you call me old, though."

I laugh despite myself. I want to hold her and see her smile like how I imagine she is when she laughs at me over the phone like this. I don't know if it's really there on the other line but I want to believe it, but not for the reasons that are eating at my gut.

But I grin with tears in my eyes, turning my face to the wall and away from the other people scattered and chatting throughout the room. "You sound good."

She sighs a small, happy sigh. "I feel good."

I can't do anymore. I get up and start pacing before I speak again. "I.. have to go and… you know. With the rehearsing and stuff."

"Honey, are you alright?" Still in concern for me she seems better than she's been in so long.

All I can think is that the time away from me is doing her so much good… and maybe I should let her have what's best for her. Which only makes me want to cry more.

Fuck. Fucking _fuuuuck_. I hate emotions.

"Yeah. I'm fine, I'm just a little hoarse. It just came out of nowhere."

"Okay… Well.. I love you."

"Love you too."

"Call me once and a while – I like talking to you, ya know. Even if we can't see each other."

I feel my lip start to shake. "I'll do that."

No, I won't.

"Okay. Have fun rehearsing, lady."

"I will… thank you, baby."

"You're welcome. Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah." No. No matter how much I want to.

"Byyyeeee.."

"Bye."

I don't know if she heard my whisper of a goodbye but I hang up and pretend to scroll through random things as tears come spilling out. I feel like an idiot. I'm sitting in the corner of this fucking rehearsal room having a breakdown and I'm an idiot.

I feel Anthony's hand rubbing my back before I see him. He's just there with his flat line of a smile that tells me I don't need to explain and I laugh at myself through my tears and lean my head on his chest. He doesn't say anything either. We just sit like that until the next few minutes allow me to gain my composure and wipe my face.

"Do I look as dumb as I feel?"

"No… I'm sure no one could ever feel that dumb."

I hit him and smile, which almost makes me want to cry again because my whole processing unit of my brain is absolutely FUCKING wrecked. Because I'm a wreck.

"You look fine."

"Thanks."

I pat my face with my sleeves a little more before giving him an awkward smile. "Why am I such a mess?"

"Because you're human and life makes humans miserable."

"Deep."

"That's what she said."

I laugh.

He gives me his hand and I take it without question.

He won't ever ask me what that was all about, and he wouldn't ever tell anyone it happened. At most, he'll make up an some ridiculous excuse, and if anyone disputes it, he'll shrug and have it stop there.

Sometimes I wish I could be that way. But as soon as I see something, think something, feel something… it just sits so I can think over and obsess over it and make myself crazy. I want to shrug away life and be okay. I want to breathe and take a step forward without wondering if I've missed something on the previous step.

But I know what'll happen.

I'll go home after rehearsal and keep thinking about how she sounded and keep beating myself up for making her so unhappy, and I'll stare at my phone and her texts and want to talk to her, but I won't. I'll just think, and brood, and let myself go crazy.

I'm already crazy. Who am I trying to play.

Fuck baby steps. Let's dive in and get this shit over with.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: TRIGGER WARNING. Physical violence ahead.  
Again, if you are in an abusive relationship (whatever relationship, not always romantic) GET OUT. It's not glamorous, or mysterious or interesting. It's scary and life threatening. You owe it to yourself to be healthy and well. There are anonymous help numbers all over, please google one or as many as you need. You are loved, and valuable.**

* * *

Being numb is a beautiful thing.

As soon as your body can't take anymore it just shuts down. The really strange thing is that you can still feel a little of what came before your brain blocked everything out, but it's through a bit of a smoke screen like it's trying to bite at you behind stained glass.

It was the same after Kristin left the show. Or not the same, but similar with the feeling – I can't tell you how much I cried, and hated myself for making her leave, but after a little while it was something that kept flashing in the back of my mind as I went through my life not really feeling anything else for a long while. I missed her and I was so immature I felt like I didn't have myself without her. That's not how it's supposed to be. No one is supposed to have a better half or have someone complete them. I should have been a whole person before I got married and before anything got serious with Kristin, but I felt like I needed something. I felt like I wasn't ever going to be happy until someone made me happy. But even when they did; when SHE did, I still felt empty and like I had something to prove, and being alone scared me more than anything else. And when she left that fear came to life, even though I was married. That fear turned into lots of choking emotional pain, even if it was juvenile.

But nothing _really_ compares to spousal abuse.

Finally there's some relative peace. I can start to breathe a little again, but it's shallow and my lungs can't take too much air in, but it's a relief in and of itself. It's not a second later I can feel that I'm shaking all over, and that my hands are still gripping the leg of that stupid chair that came with the apartment.

"Dee.."

It seems like he's a long way away.

He turns me over and tears roll off either side of my eyes but I'm not crying – probably from holding my eyes closed and concentrating on not feeling. I hear that ugly grunt more than I feel it coming out of me when that part of my back hits the ground that he's finished kicking. Damn it, I'm pretty sure it was only three or four times… six tops, but I feel it everywhere.

He grabs my jaw and kisses me before walking away. It sounds like he's walking away. I don't really want to open my eyes yet, but I do want to roll back over and try to feel anything but what's left over from Taye's fucking boots. Why boots? He doesn't ever wear boots, I don't know if he planned it or if it's a matter of beautiful coincidence that when he decides to throw me on the floor and kick me repeatedly he's dressed like a fucking G.I. Joe.

One second I was making dinner and the next he was grabbing my shoulders and I was up against the wall with him screaming at in my face. He doesn't usually get that angry and I didn't understand why a few messages from Kristin would make him like that – I didn't reply to them and they were all at least a week before hand.

And as usual, I can't just try and talk him down or lie to try and save myself some minor agony. But I didn't. Why would I do anything like that? I mumbled something under my breath and he hit me. I can't remember how hard because honestly all I can feel or understand is that my back and my ribs hurt more than I think anything ever has on my body ever. Maybe one of them is broken because that'd be perfect. I don't know if I'll go to the hospital either, but do I know I'm not going to do anything right now except lay here and cough until maybe I can get up.

I won't lie; this is probably the worst it's ever been. I know the statistics and I know that I'm an idiot. I should leave or call the police or do something instead of just take it, but I'm not going to do any of those things. I mean, I'll leave him eventually or wait for him to leave me, but I won't ever get the cops involved. The last thing I want is Walker growing up knowing his father has done anything like this. Anyone can call me stupid until their face is blue, I won't make my baby ashamed of either one of his parents. I don't want him to live with that weighing on him.

The ridiculous thing is I knew this would happen today. Maybe not this exact scenario, but I knew something would happen. I let my sister take Walker for the day so he could play with his cousins, and it's the first time Taye and I have been alone for a good while.

It's probably better now than when the show starts, but I have the thing for the magazine in a few days and this will probably limit wardrobe a bit.

And then I have to think of what I'll tell people if they do see. Immediately I rule out car accident and falling down the stairs – stupid and cliché and I'm sure it won't look anything like the result of either of those incidents. And I'm not dumb enough _not_ to go to the hospital if I was in a wreck or tripped down four flights of stairs. And I use the elevator. The stairs are where horror movies and crime shows start.

I could say I got mugged but that would leave a lot of questions I'm not quick enough to answer with any sort of relevance.

After a few minutes I try to push myself up, but as soon as I move at all I'm back, bringing my knees up to my chest and hissing at the pain. So much for numbness.

"Don't be so fucking dramatic."

He walks right by and goes into the kitchen. Shit is moving around in there but I don't really care what he's doing in all honesty. All I care about is maybe getting to the couch so I can lay down on something that's cushioned in the slightest.

"Sooner or later you're going to have to grow up stop chasing this bitch. I mean – she's not here right now, hon. I'm here. How long have I been here for?"

He's yelling from the kitchen obviously still angry, and I can feel my head spinning now – my stomach telling me there's something wrong.

"How long have I taken care of you? And still with this shit, like you have no respect for what I've done for you, and for our family. It's disgusting."

I stop listening and start taking long, deliberate breaths. I hold my side with one hand push myself up with the other even though I feel like my torso is going to split into a few different pieces. I keep the whining to a minimum, hoping he doesn't hear and come back for more. Usually when he's done, he's done – he'll talk for a while and then not talk to be again for a couple days, at which point he'll apologize and promise that he's trying so hard and that he won't let it happen again. Until it does. And I cover everything up and wince through picking up my baby and doing everyday things that shouldn't be a problem.

Finally I'm up enough to lean against the chair on my good side and rest for a second. I'm out of breath for no apparent reason and my head is still pounding. He didn't even hit my face, I don't know why it feels like that. Or it probably hit the wall when I did.

Fuck, I don't feel good.

And out of nowhere, I'm being moved on the sofa really carefully. He's putting a blanket over me with the weirdest expression, and then walks to the tv and tosses me the remote. I don't mean to flinch, but a part of me expected it to hurt. In reality it was the flinching that made my back tense and pain shoot all over.

"You need water?"

Completely unsympathetic. But I nod anyway.

As soon as he walks away I start to cry. If it were up to me, I would never. Not until he was asleep and I was either in the shower or a week from now when I was alone, but for some reason my body decides it needs to cry now. So I simply do it as quietly as possible and cover my face.

He puts the water on the coffee table and heads back into the bedroom. I hear the door close and I turn my face into the pillow and cry some more. But it's already wet.

I look, and see blood. My nose is gushing blood on my blue pillows. How hard did I hit my head?

I can't think anymore. I can't hate myself or him anymore than I already do, and my anger and sadness has pretty much plateaued for the night. I close my eyes and hope I can get away with calling out of rehearsal for the next few days.

* * *

I should not have butterflies. Period.

Today of all days – reminding me it's been more than ten years since this whole thing got started. I should be so over feeling anxious and nervous because I get to see her. "Get to…" Not even my own phrasing bothers me today. In the back of my mind I'm pretty sure it has something to do with being wanted. Dana makes me feel like I'm worth being paid attention to, so even if it's not from Idina I'm getting that attention. Which makes me feel better. So seeing her is that other piece. It's being able to give that fondness I've finally been receiving because she's really who I want to give it to.

Of course, she's late. But I don't care. I just make small talk with the hair and makeup team and grin as I'm introduced to the photographer, all the while trying not to vibrate with anticipation. Fielding questions about the show, and my career, and Idina and I.

"Are you excited to see her?"

I just nod. "It's been a while." Vague – so I don't have to lie but I feel like it's a lie anyway.

"Speak of the devil."

Without regard for the brush in my face, I turn around quickly with a huge smile on just for her.

Hers seems a bit more stiff, but she returns it. I get out of my chair and go to hug her. And as soon as my arms wrap around her middle she stiffens even more. Almost like cringing - and my whole mood is switched around. Something happened.

I can't even hug her because he did something.

I have to take a deep breath before pulling away and acting like I didn't notice, even though I peek at her face and sure enough there's that horrible look on her face because she's holding in that wince she really wants to let go of.

"Hi there." Her voice is gravely and tired.

"Hey, stranger." I smile that sad smile I can't really help and she accepts is with one of her own.

Then her face brightens a little toward the makeup team as she tosses her head to one side. "Would you guys mind too much if we could get a minute to just to catch up?"

They not politely and get out of the way, though only on the other side of the room behind some racks of clothing.

I glance back and forth toward them a few times before rubbing one of her arms and motioning toward the chairs set up just for us.

She gives me a flat line of a grin and sits, though it's a labored motion anyone would be able to spot – not just the suspicious mistress.

"How bad is it?"

Her eyes go to the ground quickly.

"Idina."

"It's uhm… it's pretty bad this time. "

My stomach churns even more as I wring my hands together. I want to yell at her and tell her to let me take her away and I want to cry for her and hit his stupid face with a shovel a few times but I just shake my head.

"He went back to California, though. So he's gone now."

I feel like my head nods on its own out of sympathy for me and I just look at her. I know I can't do anything for her because she won't take my help.

She adjusts herself carefully and plays with her hands.

"How long ago?"

"A few days."

"And you're still in this much pain?" I try to keep my voice low, but it's hard. There are so many things I'm feeling and none of them are easy to contain.

Her voice stays low and steady, though. "Kris, I think maybe we should talk about this right now."

"It's the first time I'm seeing you in how long and immediately you're hurt."

"I'm okay."

"No. You're not."

Her hands sweep some of her hair away from her face. "He took me to the hospital – I'm fine."

"He took you?"

"Yeah."

"It was so bad, _he_ agreed to take you to the hospital, that's what you're telling me."

"I went, though – the point is I went."

I'm still trying to take deep breaths so I don't cry with a ton of strangers in the room.

"What did you end up telling them?"

"That I missed a step when we were moving the new couch up to the apartment and it fell on me."

My chest feels like it's caving in. "Oh my god." My hand goes to my stomach. I don't know if I'm going to throw up, but I know I'm shaking now.

She's just staring at the ground like she's ashamed and all I want to do is hold her but that would probably hurt her too.

"The couch fell on you?"

"Kristin.."

"Is anything broken? You had to say that-" I hate him. I want to kill him.

"It's not as bad as I thought."

My heart is racing. "How are you going to handle wardrobe?"

"I'll tell them the same thing we told the hospital."

My head goes in my hands for a moment before I remember there are other people in the room with us again and I look over carefully. None of them look like they're paying attention but I should still watch myself.

"We can talk about it later, okay?" She gives me a little smile. There's so much sadness in it, but it looks different – like she's not trying to cover it up with lies anymore. It's just there. "I have a plan, so let's put on our happy faces and take some pictures." Her smile grows a little before she shifts uncomfortably. "I AM happy to see you."

I smile back – but only a bit. "I'm happy to see you, too." I put my hand over hers and squeeze. "I just wish I could adjust the circumstances around it a little."

"I'm okay."

She stands up carefully and gives me a hug. I hear her holding back her grunt of discomfort, but I hug back gently as she kisses the side of my face. Then she yells and waves over the makeup people to come back and make her pretty.

But she's beautiful. Even with the circles under her eyes and that sedated expression she's a vision.

All I can do is hope I keep my expression plastic and non-genuine enough to make them think I hate her, and maybe to ignore the angry flips my guts are doing. We'll take pictures and smile and act like it's just a job, but after I'll be damned if I don't get her home and try harder than I ever have to get her to come back to me so she's at least safe. Or to leave him… assume a different identity. I'll take whatever I can get at this point, in love with me or not, as long as she's not with that slimy bastard anymore.

* * *

**AN: Again, I do not know or suggest I know that Taye Diggs has ever done anything to harm Idina Menzel through their relationship, and I don't believe he has either. This is a story and simply a plot device that I have chosen to use. This is a work of fiction with real people's names in it.**

**I hope to post more chapters soon, but I cannot promise update times. Thank you for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry I always take so long, but I've figured I'll stop promising update times if I don't have ALL of the chapters written. I have officially learned my lesson. My only rule is that you can trust I won't ever just fucking give up on a story. I love them like babies... really annoying screaming babies that need a nap, so I have to put them down for an hour or two, and when they wake up, they are nice and pleasant and rested, and I'm ready to feed them and change their diaper and watch them grow. But while they're being all cranky and ridiculous, they need to sleep.
> 
> Weird metaphor, but I'm a nanny. So :P  
> Thank you to those who still enjoy this story and have expressed your desire to read more, I really do appreciate it. You guys are awesome. Also, I am SO cool with PMs, man. If you have questions or whatever, I know this one girl on Tumblr didn't understand something in visitor and asked me on there and was apologetic for taking up my time or whatever - don't be. I would love to communicate with whoever about whatever (involving stories/writing).
> 
> (TRIGGER WARNING:: Bringing up Kristin's issues again. If you feel like your life is not worth living, please talk to someone. Preferably a professional, but seek help because you are beautiful and you deserve to be happy. I can't put numbers in here but google is a wonderful and if you type in "suicide hotline" there are lots of numbers to coach you through. Be safe, and love yourself.)
> 
> Also, sorry for rambling. Reviews make me smile. You are loved.

Always the twitter bug. I can't stop my eyes from rolling as she steals my phone and immediately goes on social media, trying to pretend she's alright. She has that fake smile on so that the random person who might recognize us and on the off chance knows how to work a cell phone camera doesn't catch us staring into each other's eyes or somthing. Not that she cares. More for my sake I guess.

"What are you writing?"

"You can read it later." Her voice is quiet, and if I were anyone else I'm sure I'd think it was perfectly cheery.

But it's too cheery. There's too much sweetness, and I already knew she'd try to hide as much of her disappointment as possible. Between having to keep up the charade and hating my husband, then seeing Joel and putting on that stupid crown - she has a whole lot of emotions and none of them are good when they're stacked up on top of one another like this. I'm terrified that seeing me this once will fuck up how happy she's seemed. Or at least how happy Denny says she is. I don't hear much but the occasional string of text messages and his reassurance lets me breathe a little easier and feel a little worse.

Her smile fades for a second and her eyes go a little hollow - but as fast as it came, she slides right back into sunshine again, sliding the phone back to me.

I look and apparently she's done. There's also a text from Taye, which is probably the cause for the face.

"So how's the new show?"

"Kris."

She shakes her head. "I want to hear about it."

I shut my phone off and throw it in my bag, ignoring my sandwich and resting my head on my fist. "It's good. The music is great - I get to belt and cry, which is my favorite. It's interesting. I'm really happy to be back."

"Good." Her voice is so soft. I can feel it like it's massaging my hands. "I'm glad."

"Maybe you could come and see it. When we open and stuff."

She nods, but doesn't look at me.

"I'll use one of my comp seats on you." I smile, but I get a jolt of soreness up my back.

And just like that the happiness is gone. Her eyes go to my stomach like she's looking through to my skin and imagining all of the bruises and all of the pain I'm in.

I let out a breath I forgot I was holding and she looks back down to her fancy salad and loads up her fork before stuffing it in her mouth, all of the phony joy going up in flame.

"I guess you'll be out of rehearsal for a few days."

"I'll be fine."

"Right. Of course you will. Because a _couch_ isn't a big deal. It just falls on you every once and a while and you can just dust you off and get back up." She shrugs and stabs at her food. "You're indestructible, right? It doesn't matter if the couch gets angry and puts you in the hospital, it's just a couch. It's not like it's been doing this to you for years and keeps getting worse."

"Kristin, I know you're upset-"

She shakes her head, not looking at me. "Who cares if I'm upset, I'm just the end table."

This is the part I would sit back and give up trying to fight with her, but I don't want my side to connect with the wood of the chair, so I just stare back.

"I want to go."

"We just got here."

"I don't care." She finally looks at me, trying to blink back tears and I see her swallow hard. Her hand waves down a waiter and asks for go-boxes. We don't say a whole lot more as she more or less leads us into the street and into a taxi and to her apartment. It's farther away than mine, but she didn't ask, so I didn't give out any extra information. I've only been to this new one twice, and each time it's looked different. New furniture or art or whatever. But it looks almost the same as last time. Which either means she's working extra or that she's comfortable here.

But she's not in for more than half a second before she drops the food on the floor and moves behind me, picking up my shirt as gently as she can. I don't have to look back to know that she's probably already half way to sobbing, but I can hear that first shaky sigh. Her finger gently traces around my side, the tender skin rippling as it dips along the line where the purple starts to turn red. I've taken so many pictures I think the image is burned in my brain permanently.

Her hands ease my shirt down and then she covers her face with her hands, leaning against the wall as the sobbing starts.

I'm not even all the way turned around to see her shaking before my mind brings up the fact that it's this kind of stress that made her feel like she dying. That it's me doing this to her - making her so unhealthy, and I hate myself. Not that that is something comes and goes, but right now it's just prominent in my mind.

"Hey..." It's breathier as it comes out of my mouth than what I thought it would be, but she looks at me anyway. That knot in my gut tightens, and I move toward her. She goes to hug me around my middle like she usually does, but hesitates, raising her hands to wrap around my shoulders instead. I squeeze her back, even though it hurts a little, I haven't done it in what feels like forever. "I'm sorry."

"I hate him." She's breaking down and it makes me start to shake, too. But I won't cry while she's like this. I can't show her how much it scares me or she'll probably have a panic attack. "I hate that he can do this to you. I don't want you to go back." She pulls back enough to look at me, and she's still ugly-crying. "Please, I don't care if you don't want to be with me, just don't go back to him."

I try to wipe the tears from her face, but she just moves my arms back around her and squeezes my biceps while her forehead rests on my chest. I don't know what to say anymore. I don't have the words to console her because she's right. I just hold her tighter, but I hiss at the shooting pain.

"Here." She nods away before taking my hand and setting me on the couch. Then she disappears, only to come back with some of my old sweat pants and a t-shirt she stole a couple years back.

I give her some awful excuse for a smile before I start to change, not even thinking about arguing with her.

Kristin goes immediately and picks up the food, taking it out of the bag and setting it on the counter neatly then starts the coffee and gets out cups - all the things I've seen her do a million times, but not the way I see it now. Just going through the motions, and I keep wondering if it ever crosses her mind to try again. And wondering how I can try and alleviate some of the pain I've caused, or do anything to keep her from going back to that place.

Once I'm changed, I walk around the little half wall to stand behind her, kissing her cheek and letting my fingers lock just under over her navel.

"I got new creamer." She whispers. "It's better. And cheaper."

I nod. "I'll try it."

One of her hands slips under mine before she turns her head, the other one coming to rest on my neck as she kisses me that horrifyingly slow way. The one that says mine are the only kisses she waits for, and the one that absolutely murders me. But I keep my lips closed and indulge the pace that's her favorite, even though it doesn't last long. She leans her head so it sits on my collar bone and I just keep holding her, hating that weighted sigh. She's not sobbing anymore but the tears keep leaking down her face, and the quiver in her lip comes and goes.

I only move away when she grabs the pot and fills the mugs, fixing the coffees with care and the ease of the house wife she wishes she could be. And all I can see still, is that lonely woman who tried to take her own life.

When she hands me my mug, she looks at me with those knowing eyes that I can't help but smile at, even though I know it's not much of one.

She takes a sip before she dabs at her face with her sleeve again. "You even look different."

"Yeah?"

"In your face. I've never seen it before, it just looks like you're broken." She shakes her head and looks into the mug. "I've never seen you like this before. It scares me a lot."

Her tears pick up, but I don't think she'll start sobbing. I don't know if she's right, though. I think I might be more broken because I finally understand what I've been doing to her for all these years, or because this time I was actually scared. For the first time I was actually quiet and flinched around him when he was calm. Either way, if it's one or both I have no idea what to say.

"Aren't you afraid? Even a little bit?"

I shrug.

She frowns and takes another drink. We stand like that for a while, leaning against spotless counters and drinking coffee, probably thinking of what not to say. I know I should bring up falling out of touch because I promised, and because I think it's better for her. But it hurts. I don't want to lose her, which is what I'm afraid will happen if I tell her I can't see her. Even if it's only for a while. And I don't know what excuse I'd give her to justify anything.

"Where was the baby?"

I sigh, feeling a heaviness on me, yet relieved at the same time because it looks like she's stopped crying for the moment. "He was with my sister and her kids."

She nods.

"They went to the zoo."

There's a little smile. "What's his favorite animal?"

"I don't know. It changes every so often. Right now it's the elephants and the tigers." In my head I see him making the face and putting his hands up like claws and growling.

After a moment, she's back to looking anywhere but me. "I don't understand how it doesn't scare you that one day he might wake up without a mommy."

It's my turn to stare out the window after another tear falls by her nose. "It does."

"Then why do you keep going back? I don't understand."

"I don't know." I shake my head. "I thought for a while he'd just get bored and want to leave and then I wouldn't have to make a decision, or hurt anyone. I would just be the bystander, and my life would just keep happening around me."

"Waiting it out isn't going to work. He's going to keep hurting you because he can - because you're there. If you don't get out-"

"I know." There's no fight in my voice. I just let my eyes rake over her, smiling a bit as I finally see a little weight back on her. "I'm trying. This time, for real, though."

She just waits for me to explain.

"I've taken pictures of everything, I took more this morning." That nervous energy starts to build like static in my fingertips, but I try not to show it. "I'm going to wait until we're both really busy, and when we have a lot of eyes on us, and then I'll leave."

"Promise me."

"I promise." I don't even hesitate this time. I already made my decision, even though it stresses me out to think about not having my marriage to fall back on. No matter how terrible it is it's been something constant.

She steps forward quickly and hugs me again, and I want to feel that relief, that sigh of happiness that I've been waiting for. Like our life can start without any complications and this time I won't be a chicken shit and run away. But I don't feel anything like it. I just feel more of that disgusting twisting as her arms wrap around me, because I'm still betraying her trust and keeping things from her. Even if it's for her own good.

She kisses me after she puts her coffee down. They aren't as frantically happy as I'd hoped they'd be, mostly because I don't think she believes me. But they're supportive, and I accept them.

"Do you want to stay tonight?"

I just nod.

Her lips touch the side of my mouth before she rubs my arm. "I'm going to change." She squeezes a tiny bit. "We can just relax tonight - take it easy, if you want."

"Sounds good." I smile at her as she leaves. And as soon as I hear the door shut I rush to my phone.

_I can't do it. I'm not going to leave her again._

I type quickly, glancing back every time I hear a noise.

Denny doesn't wait a minute before replying.

_are you serious? she is too fragile, idina. you don't have to leave her just stand back for a while._

_No._

I press send, then start going again. I don't have the chance to finish my thought before my phone vibrates.

_she started seeing someone else and she is doing really good. please just let her breathe for a second._

My stomach falls to my shoes. I don't know if he's lying or not, but it still makes me angry and makes me want to puke. I know she's been with other people, because why would she give all of herself to me if I give barely any of myself to her? But actually dating someone else.. that involves feelings. I didn't think she would actually spend time around anyone else romantically other than me.

"Why is Denny texting you?"

I turn around to find her arms crossed, with some of her short-short pajamas and a tank top. I struggle for words for a second. "He took me out to lunch... he said he was worried about me." I nod. "Because you told him about Taye and I."

"He's known for years. I needed someone to talk to." She squints at me. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing."

Shit. I said it too quick. "Where's Maddie, I haven't heard her?"

"She's with my assistant - Gimme the phone."

"No."

"Idina, let me see it."

"I'm not your baby, Kristin - don't just-"

And in the midst of me swinging my hands around when I talk, she grabs it and walks to the other side of the room. And I can't get up fast enough to stop her. I get up, but- ya know... not in time.

"Can't do what?" She asks without looking up. Her mouth opens but I see her eyes reading past the texts and she stops. Her shoulders drop and she looks up at me.

I just let her look at me for a second, but her expression changes. She's guarded again. "'Won't leave me again' - 'Just let her breathe for a second,' what does that mean?"

"Why don't you call and ask Denny. And while he's on the phone I'll just ask him who you're seeing."

"His name is Dana. He took me out three or four times and we've talked. He's nice and he listens to me, and it's nice to have someone to send me flowers. What else do you want to know?" Her hands are on her hips.

"Are you happy with him?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not _with_ him, Idina. We barely even see each other. And when we do, he can barely make me stop thinking about you for an hour. It's not anything - What is this thing you're not doing, then?" She wiggles the phone at me.

I'm hurt but I know I don't have the right to be, so I just slip my hands in the pockets of the sweat pants. "He wanted me to stop talking to you. For a while." I take a breath and look at the floor.

"Yeah, and?"

I shrug. "That's it."

"Bullshit - he didn't just tell you out of the blue."

"Are we going to do this? Can we just sit an-"

"No!" She's actually raising her voice. "You two don't get to chat about me and plan my future behind my back. What the hell is going on?"

"He thinks this whole this is bad for you, and I agree with him! You were in the hospital, and he was pissed at me and he told me I should stop seeing you."

"And you just agreed?" She scowls because she knows me better than that.

"No, not at first." I pace back to the couch and sit down.

"He just talked you into breaking up with me. Right? Said a few choice lines and you just nodded your head and shook hands. What are you two planning?"

"We're not planning. He's worried about you! So am I!"

"And of course, the best thing to do is just ignore me! That will make me feel a whole lot better, right?" There's not a trace of a tear anymore. She's just pissed.

"No, just until I left Taye."

It looks like she's about to throw the phone beside me before it starts vibrating again. She looks at it and raises her eyebrows. Her fingers move quickly before I hear the speaker turn on and Denny's voice pouring out.

"Idina? Hello?"

She holds it closer to me and mouths 'talk'.

* * *

She clears her throat and looks at my feet. "Hey."

"Are you with her? Where is she."

I shake my head. "Lie, I'm not here." I hold the phone away and whisper, then put it back by her face.

She just looks at me like I'm crazy. "No... she just, went to my car. She forgot her purse."

"Am I on speaker?"

She sighs. "No, I'm in the bathroom."

"Good, I just... you know how worried I am for her. She just needs a second to find herself again."

I can't believe he would go behind my back and try to navigate my life. Even if it was with good intentions, he can talk to _me_ about it. And then I can talk to Idina, or not at all, this is ridiculous.

She's silent.

"Idina."

"I don't want to see her any less than I already do. I already-"

"It's not about what you want, it's about her safety. I just want her to get better and I think she can heal faster on her own. And then when you're back in the picture I think your relationship will be stronger, too."

Her head tilts to the side and she sweeps her hair along with it, staring at me like she's offended I'm making her do this. She's not going to get me any further so I bring the phone back to myself, not looking away from her. "You have no right to try and mess around in my business. I am so offended and angry right now."

"Kristin-"

"I don't care. I don't want to hear your excuses right now. You are not in control of everything. I talked to you because I needed someone to confide in, not so you can make decisions for me and run around behind my back, and force me into things. My future is my decision. Who I spend my time with is my decision, Denny."

"Honey, I know that and I'm sorry but I still think maybe you two should take a break."

"Fuck off."

"Idina... did you..."

I walk back toward the kitchen and take him off speaker phone. "She can't hear you."

"How much of what we talked about did she tell you?"

I frown, looking back at her. She's leaning forward like she's trying to hear. "Everything. Why?"

"Shit... darlin', I thought she should know." He sounds way more guilty than he should.

"No she didn't. Why did you tell her?"

Her face falls and I know before he even says it.

"Suicide is serious - she wouldn't have listened to me if I didn't tell her. I'm only trying to help you. I don't think you're in the right frame of mind to do what's best for yourself."

My stomach does a rough flip and I shake a little bit, just looking at her. Her head falls and tears pop back into her eyes. It makes a hell of a lot more sense now. Suddenly I feel like punching Denny in the back of his stupid head... and like I have a lot of explaining to do to that brunette on my couch. That's why she was looking at me different, not because she feels differently about her situation, it's because she can't look at me without thinking about how sad I am.

"Kris."

"What." I growl into the phone.

He's silent for a second. "She didn't tell you."

"You're an asshole."

"Kristi, I thought she should-"

"Trusted you with that and you've just lost a lot of that trust." I don't know why, but I start to shake. "I'm hanging up now."

There's words on the other end, but I'm already done with it.

She's just sitting there. I think she's crying but I can't see her face behind her hair. Then looking at her shoulders, I see the sobs she's holding back.

I throw the phone on the chair as I take the tentative steps over and sit next to her. My insides are doing stupid, nervous things that I don't understand, but I put my hand on her leg.

"Honey..."

"I'm so sorry." She's crying harder than I was when I saw her bruises. I scoot closer and wrap my arms around her as delicately as I can, shaking my head.

"You don't have to be."

"I didn't know you were hurting that bad. I didn't know- you just." She shrugs and pulls away completely hysterical. "You never showed it, and I hate myself. I don't ever want to hurt you and I made you try to.. go and do that."

My fingers slide across her cheeks, taking tears away that are immediately replaced. "Dee, it wasn't just you. I don't want you to blame yourself."

"But I wasn't there! You never would have tried if I was here with you. If you had Walker and I... sure, maybe you'd have a bad day every now and again, but-"

She just devolves into tears again. Every time she tries to say anything close to the idea of killing myself she breaks down again. I didn't want to tell her for a reason.

I take her hand in both of mine. "You thought he was right after hearing that."

She nods.

"What did he tell you?" I try and keep my voice low. I know how hard it is for me knowing that she's hurt. Thinking of her hurting herself would probably make me bawl my eyes out too.

She tries to take a breath but she's still sniffling. "That it was last year and you took pills... and that you had to go to the hospital." She can barely get out the last part. "It just... it made me think. And he said it would be better if I wasn't around for a while. Then you called me the other day and you sounded so much happier, and we hadn't seen each other in a minute." She wipes her face and sits back gently. "And then this guy... I don't know what to think. Maybe Denny's right. About all of it. If you feel better when you don't have to see me I think we should stop for a while." She almost had a grip before 'stop.' Then her lip starts to turn over and her chin shakes.

"I don't know what's to stop, we barely see each other as it is."

Her hands just go to wipe her face again.

And I can't help myself. I tuck my knees under me and put my hands on her thigh before leaning over to kiss her shoulder. "It's not what I want to do, if you're asking."

"But if you're happier, Kristin-"

I shake my head.

Her eyes take a tour around my face, her brows still knitted together.

I look down and let my mouth form it's hard line as my stomach tightens again.

"I just want you to be happy, and it seems like with everything that's going on with me, I'm only causing you more stress and pain and it kills me."

Her thumb strokes my wrist and I sigh, flipping around options in my head. "So what do you want to do?"

"I don't know." She laces her fingers into mine. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Even though I don't want to turn to distracting her, but I don't think I have a choice. I'm done with the tears- hers or mine. I don't want what little time we have together to be sad like this. I lean forward until I can swing my other leg around her, turning so I can put my hands on her shoulders and sit on her lap. My only answer is to kiss her. It's gentle at first, but as soon as I try for more she slows it back down again. Her hands are on either side of my face and it's her kissing me like I'm fragile. Like she doesn't want to break me, and then she kisses my cheek a few times, ending on my forehead.

And her arms move to my middle and hold me tightly. _She_ stopped _me_ , just to hold me.

"I love you."

Even the way she whispers to me is delicate.

"I love you, too..."

She pulls back and wipes her face again. "Can we just play it by ear? I'll keep in touch and we can just figure it out as we go."

I nod, and she runs her hands up and down my arms, looking at me and smiling sadly.

Then she kisses me. She even leans in slowly, and keeps it slow. I feel her sigh making the weight on my shoulders lighter. We sit there making out for I don't know how long before she slides down the cushion carefully so we can kiss laying down.

It's so light and easy, and she doesn't group at me or press against me suggestively. She lets our noses rub against one another and kisses the tip of my nose. She holds me and lets the tips of her fingers dance on my thigh while her eyes close. Even as I get up and lead her to the bedroom, she holds my hand tightly like she doesn't ever want to let go and lays down beside me, not on top of me.

I look at her in the dark, and there's so much more looking back at me than when I saw her last.

She pushes some hair behind my ear and looks like she could cry again. "I can stay tomorrow. I took rehearsal off for the rest of this week... so we could just say in."

"I have to go back, Friday."

She nods. "Okay."

I snuggle closer and kiss her again. "So stay until tomorrow night." I smile softly. "I'll mill around the house and take care of you."

"Promise?"

I laugh a little.

Something inside of me shifts in her arms. I know she cares and I know she loves me. As much as I've doubted and tried to hate her because I thought she didn't want to make the commitment or lose what made her comfortable, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it just took her thinking she might lose me for her to show it.

I don't know if I'll apologize for flipping out on Denny - I definitely won't do it before he tells me he's sorry.

But right now, I don't know if I would change very much about my life. Not while I'm laying in her arms, breathing without a pain in my chest for once.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: I don't know what this is going to be anymore. I have so many different ideas for it and they all keep wrestling around in my head and I only have a vague idea of what this will shape up as. I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate those of you who are still reading. I think I'm going to finish this for myself this time, but I'm positive at this point that there will be a time probably a couple years from now where there will be a third installment of this story, and I have a name for it, but again, I only have like six moments planned in my head.
> 
> So we're all on the ride together, now - I'm just going with it. This chapter will be shorter so I can work out some bigger things to come, but I hope you all enjoy. Reviews make me smile. You are loved.

I knew it would happen. As soon as he gave me that boyish shrug and asked if I wanted to come up to his apartment with him after our dinner and a movie shtick, I knew I was going to cross a line.

But I told myself, no - you're friends. He's made that blatantly clear to you over the course of these past few months. He'll hold doors open for you and smile, and pay for your food, but he won't return your kisses and he'll only hold your hand lightly and without meaning it.

Not that I cared much. It's nice to just talk to someone and not be blown off over and over again because she can't ever decide anything for herself. Even if her power of suggestion is strong, she still doesn't ever take the first step. Maybe that's why it's taking me so long to shake off the little thrill with this one. I have to chase him just like I chase her, only he's way more shy than she ever was... which I find charming in some weird way.

So I go up, and at first it's innocent. We're not even on our second glasses of some fancy french wine he thinks he's cool for owning, and we're starting to laugh in that point of the argument where you forget why you're trying to be right. Then his eyes shut half way.

And he leans over.

Part of me couldn't be anything else but surprised, and other part of me was just happy I wasn't as vastly unappealing as I was beginning to think I was, since he'd never really kissed me back in my few attempts at little pecks.

But I accepted it. And then I started kissing back. And then I started to let everything else go, and I didn't feel the completely bearable stress I live with all of the time. Because I was wanted without any strings, and he took his time until he felt like he knew me or whatever his reasoning was. He stuck around.

The only thing is now I can't sleep.

He doesn't snore, and he's not smothering me with cuddling, and I'm exhausted and more than comfortable in this gigantic bed. His sheets even smell nice.

But I can't do it. When it's Idina or some random person, I can knock out if I'm really tired, and especially after sex. And even more so if I can have her arms around me. I just feel like I've done something wrong. He probably really likes me, and I think he's nice, and attractive and I like spending time around him.

Dana isn't Idina, though. Worse, he's someone so far from what she is I think it's just something I found a little mysterious? I wanted to know what it was like to not stand in the shadow, but be the one that people recognized for once. I'm playing a game with people's feelings. I looked down on people for this my whole life and now I'm laying in some man's bed I have no intention of being with, or telling the truth. He's nice - he's not the asshole I shrug off after a couple dates to make him understand he's just as small as the rest of us; he treats me well. He treats women well. Maybe it's women like me that change men like him.

* * *

Walker is eating his crackers, sitting on my stomach as I just lay there, looking up at him with crumbs all over his fingers and his tired little eyes glued to the cartoons. I never knew motherhood would make me so lazy, but I wanted these moments more than anything.

He looks down at me and holds a cracker out, opening his mouth so that I'll do the same and I do. He pops it over my teeth and I exaggerate chewing.

His grin opens up as a little laugh comes out.

"I love you, butt face." I poke his belly and he curls away a bit.

Then only looks back at the tv before shoving a few crackers in his mouth.

I scowl and let my bottom lip hang out. "Say it back."

"Loooooooove you."

"You better."

"I do!" His eyes go wide and he sets down his bowl on my chest and raises his hands high above his head. "I love you this much."

"I love you more. To the moon and the sunshine and forever."

"No I love YOU more."

"NO I LOVE YOU MORE."

We just yell at each other for a second before I put his crackers on the ground and lift him up, just to tackle him to the sofa and pepper him in kisses all over his little face. All of the giggles and screams die down as I look down and stare at him, clutching his hands in my own.

And for no reason at all emotions wash over me. I don't want to cry in front of him, mostly because I don't want to confuse him. Tears still mean sadness when you're little, and trying to explain that you can love someone so much you just don't know what else to do is way too much. But my eyes start to water and he just looks at me. He frowns and pulls his hands out of mine, squeezing my cheeks a little bit.

"Don't cry mommy."

His voice is so small.

I wrap him up in my arms and sit up, holding him to me as tears start to fall. I don't want him to hate me, and I don't want him to hate his father. I just want him to grow up loving life and making good memories and being silly.

My hand moves up and down his back. "I'm sorry, baby. Mommy's just weird today."

"Why is you crying?"

I roll my eyes at myself. "I don't know..." he pulls back and sits on my lap, gathering some of my hair to play with instead of looking at me. "I just... I'm really tired."

"You needa take a nap?"

I smile and wipe at my face. "Probably. I'll wait until later, though."

"So we can snuggle?"

"Yeah. I need my Walker snuggles."

He just nods and keeps his fingers at work making knots in my hair. But his eyes look far away, like his little mind is trying to work to figure something out far beyond him.

I reach my fingers through his afro and itch his head. "What are you thinking about, little man?"

"Uhmmm... I dunno." His lips purse dramatically.

"What is it?"

He sighs like he doesn't know how to explain it. "Does daddy is making you tired?"

"What?"

"You're crying 'cause you's tired, so is daddy makes you tired? Daddy yells and... and sometimes when daddy yells he makes you start to cry."

All I can do is look at him as my heart breaks. No four year old should have to try and rationalize their parents fighting. I try to hold the tears back but the knot in my throat only gets bigger because I don't know which time he's talking about. I didn't know he knew about any of it.

"Honey.." I shake my head and squeeze his arms a little. "Does that make you upset?"

He shrugs instead of answering, but I hug him anyway.

"Sometimes me and daddy aren't best friends. But we always love you. So so much, okay?"

"Okay."

"And no matter what happens we are still going to love you."

"Yeah." He puts his hands on my cheeks and squishes them into a smile, which makes me grin immediately.

"Okay." I take a deep breath and grab his hands. "I think it's time for some real breakfast."

"Waffles!"

"Go wash up... and you can help me make them."

As soon as he flies off into the other room, my stomach ties itself in knots. But I go through with it. I have one of those feelings like 'it's time' and I don't want to let it slip away and not do it for another year. My phone is on the table and I go right down to Denny's name.

_I'm ready for the name of one of those lawyer friends you were talking about._

* * *

She's still my favorite person.

I think over everyone my mother is still the only one I've ever really trusted. She's always kept her word, and loved me unconditionally. Even through her bout with cancer she was still just worrying about me and if I was getting enough rest. And seeing her tinkering with her hearing aide makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I'm not ready for her to be old. Not only because it means I'm getting old, but because I'll lose the only person I feel wholly connected to.

My parents have never been like other parents, or not in my eyes as least. They picked me. They gave me a home because they wanted me, not because they had another baby. She didn't just get pregnant and love me like almost everyone else. I was a stranger and they decided that I was going to be theirs.

And every time I think about it I want to cry because I feel so loved and wanted, and I know they would do anything for me. But I still feel so unbelievably sad so often. It makes me feel ungrateful and hopeless because despite their love and support, I'm still unhappy - I still want more than I have. I'm so lucky and this awful drowning feeling is almost always with me, grabbing at my throat and stopping me from just going about my day or letting people love me. I've always had days like this, but since Idina.. since I left the show they're the middle ground. I have good days where the weight is a little lighter, and days I don't get out of bed.

"Honey, can you-? The damn battery is to small for my fingers."

I smile and take the thing from her, borrowing her reading glasses so I can pry the sucker open and change out the battery.

"Darlin' what would I do without you?"

"Go deaf. Or go crazy, either one." I shrug.

Her head tilts to the side and she puts her hand on my knee.

I don't look at her though. I fit the little plastic cover back in it's place and give it back to her and try to walk back into the kitchen quickly. But she clears her throat and I'm suddenly fourteen again, pacing back her way slowly.

Her eyes are kind and knowing. "Talk to me."

Tears well up in my eyes. Not just because she knows me well enough not to need to ask if something's wrong, but because of that too. Mostly I just want to cry and not worry about getting the blame - she'll blame the whole world and Jesus before she'd blame me for anything.

And without even trying, somehow I end up with my head in her lap, sobbing like a baby. At some point my father comes in and he sits at the opposite end of the sofa, not saying anything. He pats one of my calves and holds my mother's hand.

"I just miss her."

"I know, baby."

"And I miss the baby.. and that life we were so close to. I just want it back."

Her fingers go through my hair.

"I want to go back to the beginning and I want to fight harder for her there. Maybe I could have changed things. If I really wanted to I could have-"

"Stop it, Christi." He squeezes my foot affectionately, and I nod and stop talking. But I keep crying.

Everything hurts. My whole life's gone by and I have a handful of awards and a twenty page resume to show for it.

But no family. Not one of my own. I've had so many chances but none of them felt right. I could have made any one of them work, but I chose to put my all into a relationship that hasn't ever even seen the light of day.

And then there's Dana. Who's sweet and kind... and treats me the way I've always wanted to be treated, and who's good in bed and in a conversation and I don't care. I don't wonder what he's doing or if he's thinking about me. I could care less if he's with someone else. I would feel bad if he was hurt, but I couldn't see myself feeling anything close to what I feel when I worry for Idina. And the fact breaks my heart a little more.

"You can't help who you love."

I look over at my Daddy and he's sitting there with tears in his eyes too. He's never showed actual support for Idina and I - not even when I had her and Walker over at Christmas, or when I sent pictures home from the apartment. But he's always loved me, and never judged. But hearing that come out of his mouth makes me loose it just a little more.

And suddenly I wake up to my phone ringing.

I have to look around to realize I must have fallen asleep - still curled up on the couch and I have a giant headache making my ears throb as I sit up. But I wobble to my purse anyway, answering as soon as I see the name.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

I look at the time and do some math in my head. "Is everything alright? It's Midnight."

"It's eleven for you."

"What's going on?"

"Everything's okay." Her voice is quiet. "I just put Walker to sleep."

"It's awful late for him-"

"Kris, he's more of a night owl than you are."

I smile weakly and curl up in the chair.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I thought you'd still be up."

"I probably would have been. I fell asleep really early. More or less on accident."

There's a little bit of silence before I hear a door shut and a long sigh. "Do you still have the password to my email?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Another huff.

I can feel her mind going from god knows how many miles away. "What's happening?"

"I don't want you to look at it. Or not yet. I just need to make sure you can get to my things if you need to."

"Why would I need to?"

"Because I'm going to tell him."

My stomach jolts before I remember it's what I've been asking for forever.

"I have it all worked out it my head, but.. you know. You can plan all you want but in reality it can be something different every time."

"When?"

"I'm going to try for Saturday. I just got in touch with a family lawyer yesterday. Everything's confidential, and our PR guy doesn't now anything yet."

I just nod and look out the window. "Are you scared?"

"A little. I know how I want to tell him, I just don't know what to do after."

"Come out here."

"You're leaving-"

"I'll stay. We can stay here, he wouldn't come down here."

"No, Kris."

It stings even though I expect it.

"It would be way too confusing for Walker. I want to make it as easy for him as possible."

His little face makes me want to start crying all over again. So gulp all of it down. "What's on your email?"

"Pictures. Of everything... all of the... evidence with time stamps on them."

"You've really been planning, then."

"Yeah." Her voice isn't as confident as I hoped it would be. "I just wanted to do it right."

"What if he says no?"

"That's the other reason for the pictures. He says no, I go public and get the divorce and tarnish his image. He says yes, we split amicably and have shared custody of Walker."

It really is all thought out. It's a solid plan, and I wouldn't have ever seen it coming. Though I still have to wonder if it would have happened if I didn't try to kill myself. Or if she hadn't have found out. I don't know if she really wants it or if it's just a safety measure.. and not for her.

"I just needed to know."

"In case things went wrong."

Another sigh. "There's always that off chance."

"Why don't you just tell him _with_ the lawyer there. Bypass any option for him to hurt you again."

"That's a good idea."

I try to smile, but it doesn't quite get there. It's still nerve wracking to think all of this is really going to happen. For some reason the excitement isn't there, everything still has fear attached to it.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay."

Silence.

"Today was a rough day." I admit. "But my parents are perfect... they just babied me."

"Good."

Everything she says sounds guilty.

And something just hits me. It doesn't come attached with a thought but all of the guilt and anger and sadness pile up suddenly and I have to tell her. "I slept with him."

Somehow it's even quieter than before, on the other end of the phone and here. It's like the air has stopped moving and I can't move. My eyes are still trained toward the porch swing hanging deadly still.

I don't know what I expect her to say. I don't know what I intended to accomplish with the statement in the first place.

"Are you... do you want to keep seeing him?"

A knot ties itself in my throat. Her voice seems so fragile.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know - I mean exactly what I said."

It's not a sigh this time, it's a deep and calculated breath. I can tell- the kind that fills all of her lungs so she's sure she's not suffocating.

"Would it make a difference? If I dated him would you still go through with all of this."

"Is this a test? It that what this is about?"

"No, I-" Her sniffles come through the line and I walk outside and sit on the porch swing, hating myself even more. "I just thought I would tell you the truth. We've kept enough from each other. You put all your cards on the table, I just wanted to show you mine, I guess." Or maybe I just wanted to hurt her the same way she's hurt me over and over again through the years. Maybe I am this horrible cynical bitch. She doesn't even sound angry, just really hurt.

She's still crying.

"I'm sorry."

"For... sleeping with him, or for telling me."

"Both... probably."

"I need to go."

I fucked up. I fucked up big time but somehow I don't completely feel wrong. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel good by any means. But I don't know if I'd take it back.

"I'll talk to you later."

"I love you.." I say it but it makes me feel like a bastard for saying it now.

"Yeah." Her voice cracks. "You too."

And the line goes dead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is still finding me as I go. I'd like to remind everyone I started this when I was still in high school. I don't want to abandon it, I want to give it a whole and appropriate ending, but I don't know how long that will take. Everyone who reads is appreciated, even though I know I foster a lot of frustration with the horribly long waits between chapters. The truth is that the outline changes as time has.
> 
> Big thank-you to 'Gina' for beta-ing for me. You've been a great motivator.
> 
> You are loved and appreciated. Every single person.
> 
> Enjoy.

I'm only home a day before she asks to come over.

How could I have told her no? I broke her heart this time, I know that. Even if she knew that I was with other people I didn't have to tell her like that – over the phone while she's just calling to talk to me, probably while she was nervous and wondering how to go about serving the divorce papers to a man she's terrified of.

When she walks in, her face is blank. Some kind of indifference that scares me but I just gulp it down and watch her go and sit heavily at the far end of the sofa.

I lean against the wall and stare. "How'd it go?"

"He's staying in Los Angeles for another week." She shakes her head, thumbs tapping on the shoulder strap of the hulking bag she carried in with her.

"You okay?"

She just shrugs.

My gut turns, because I know it's me. "Wanna talk about it?"

She shakes her head and the little wispy bun on the top of her head wiggles.

"Do you want me to… make food?"

"No." And she's up again.

There's a second I think I see tears forming in her eyes, while she's staring at the ground flexing her hands, and then it's gone. She takes the few steps over to me and kisses me like she hasn't seen me in years – like the first time after she had Walker. I feel like water. Like she needs me to survive.

I wasn't expecting it, and it's dizzying. Even after all these years she has every bit of me. And I know what she wants, and I feel like I owe her… and I want it too.

Now that I think about it, it's been a while and her hands on me feel wonderful. Squeezing at my arms and then my back, and I grab for her neck before she even has a chance to speed up.

Then the damn breaks.

She picks me up just as easily as she ever has, hands under my thighs and my back is against the door. I hear the thread breaking on the neck of my blouse as she rips it down, my bra with it as she plants searing kisses all over me. Maybe this makes her feel powerful – the opposite dynamic that was in her marriage, being able to throw me around like a rag doll – but she's always made me feel beautiful, even when I thought she was using me. The way she touches me like I'm a craving that can't actually be satisfied.

We both keep kissing, grouping, building a rhythm with our rising pulses. She tries to keep me against the door with just her torso as she takes off her jacket, but I slide little by little anyway and I go to help her with her jeans, and then her fingers slip under my shirt and everything step by step after that. It's deliberate. Everything clumsy about this was gone before it started.

She's in her socks when she drops to her knees, and that, I was not expecting.

One of my knees is over her shoulder and I have to grab at the door knob to keep my balance.

Before she even has a chance to dig in, my thighs start twitching against her cheeks. I don't have a free hand to put in her hair, but I buckle over just a little with every swipe of her tongue until I almost lose balance and lean against the door again.

And she makes quick work of me, knowing my body, and catches me when she lets my leg down.

I just barely have the chance to reach for her before she's hugging me around my middle with both arms. My hands move into her hair and we kiss over and over – slowly and deeply as she walks me backward to the couch.

My eyes close because we've done this too many times for surprises, right? In my mind's eye she's climbing on top and my mouth is heading to her navel, and I want to squeeze her hips and feel her skin ripple under my fingers. But when I lean in, swept up in my own imagination, she isn't there.

Instead, she hoists me up on the arm of the couch and her eyes look hollow again – the same expression as when she walked in.

"Dee-"

She kisses me with every bit of malice she's allowed to feel.

"Turn around." She says and pats my bare thigh once, a bit harder than I expect.

"What?"

She doesn't answer. She goes over to her purse and pulls out a harness and a few different.. attachments.

"Pick one."

"Are you serious?"

She's fumbling with the buckles around her legs. "Look like it's a joke?"

I go to stop her hands, but she grabs them quickly, looking me in the eye like she's pissed.

"What are you doing?"

In one quick move she's on me, hugging me to her tightly so our noses are bumping against each other, and the anger is gone. I can't place the look on her face but she looks so much younger. She looks like she just washed all the green off and she still wants to tell me how much she wants me but she can't.

My hands are on her cheeks and I rest my head against hers.

"What's going on?"

Her eyes close. "I need to fuck you." She sounds exhausted. "I want to fuck the shit out of you. I don't want to make love and cry afterward, and tell you that I need you all to myself because I don't deserve that. I'm not going to do that to you." She's breathing heavy… and I can see the tears now. She kisses me again, pressing her lips against mine forcefully. "Let me just… I want to feel like I can win something."

I shake my head. "I-"

"It's not a competition." She rests her head on my shoulder and lets me stand on my knees on the couch as her hands go to my waist instead. "You're not-"

"The blue one."

She just looks at me, face blank and maybe a bit confused, but I just stand and help her with the buckles around her hips and she kisses my forehead.

* * *

I planned it.

Not loosely either – I decided how I wanted it to go way before I invited myself over. Everything I told her was the truth, but I needed it more just to keep it with me.

Because when Taye walked in and saw a lawyer sitting next to me at our dining room table, I knew this wouldn't be easy. Not even having this very calm man sitting here do I feel safe. I don't think I'll ever feel safe around him again.

He puts his bags down and points at Jerry with a scowl, keeping his eyes on mine. "Who's this?"

Jerry is a professional. No smile. No grimace. He just stands and extends a hand out to him and that's all I look at; their hands shaking firmly before Jerry adjusts his suit jacket. "I'm your wife's attorney. And yours, if you'd like."

"We have one already."

Jerry looks at his files. "Divorce attorney, Mr. Diggs." He passes a full copy of his file over to Taye in a manila envelope and gestures to the chair across from us. "Please, take a seat."

"Wh- The fuck I am – we're not getting a divorce."

"In fact, you are. If you'll just-"

He hits the table with a loud crack and I jump.

But I close my eyes and she's there. He's screaming and Jerry is speaking calmly, at a regular volume, and there we are on her couch. Her fingers are hooked around the leather of the harness and I'm biting one of her ankles… and I can get through this. I can hear the hoarse yelps as my hips meet her ass, faster and faster until she's growling and clawing at my thighs. I see it, and I feel it so vividly that it's dizzying, but I feel powerful. I feel like I can fight crime or stand up to my husband.

"Stop." I stand with him, taking the folder that was supposed to be his and I pull out all the pictures – the fresh bruises on my back and the yellow and grey of them trying to heal themselves in various pictures after. The ones on my arms he didn't mean to leave. Print outs of texts and emails to Kristin from years ago and months ago, all documenting the history that's going to buy me my freedom. I throw them on the table for him to see one by one. "You don't have a choice."

He picks up a few of the screen shots of my texts and his nostrils flare.

I sit back down and pull my cardigan over me more, staring at a picture of me in Kristin's bathroom without a shirt on. One of the only ones I'm not taking the picture.

"Here's the deal; you sign the papers with the terms of our divorce. We have split custody of Walker – week by week until he starts school and then we can renegotiate. I don't want your money. We won't ever be in a room alone together again, and we trade Walker at one of our parents houses always. That's it. We both walk away clean."

"And when I say fuck that, then what?"

"Then I sell the pictures and file the papers.. and you don't have a say." I can feel the tears, but I look at the ceiling instead. "I'll file for full custody and get him. I'll get a restraining order because I obviously have evidence. And a witness. You'll only be able to see your son when I say you can." My voice cracks. "And I'll have to explain to him how you were mean to me and hurt me.. and he won't ever see you the same way. Is that what you want?"

His lips make a straight line. "You're taking his family away."

A few tears fall and I have to turn around entirely. Because he's seen me cry enough and I'm done with it.

Jerry explains everything else to him and I have to go back to get ahold of myself. Back to her knees in my hands as I keep pumping, sweat starting to build on my shoulders and my forehead, but she finally cries out and puts her hand flat on my stomach to I slow down.

" _Jesus.. Christ."_ She weezes.

I collapse on top of her and feel her whole body still vibrating and coming down. She tries to hold on to me but her arms aren't latching on the way they usually do.

The toy is still inside of her so I lean in just a bit more and a strangled, guttural sound comes out of her mouth. We're pressed together and I don't think she has it in her to wrap her legs around me.

" _Slow, please… oh my god."_

I nod against her shoulder, and I just grind against her at a steady pace, not even barely pulling out anymore and she wasn't done with the last time. So the usual squeaks and whimpers are moans lower and louder right in my ear.

Her body starts to tense so I pick myself up on my hands, pressing into her harder and she's pushing down on the arm of the couch to hold herself in place as her face twists. I can see her mascara smudge.

"Can I speak to my wife alone, please?"

When I turn around I can feel how hot my face is.

Jerry frowns. "I'm afraid not."

I can't bring myself to look at him, but I can see him nodding in my peripheral.

The papers are all signed, and I don't know what I feel. I'm not sure if it's anything, actually.

Taye looks at me and then crosses his arms. "When did you decide?"

"After you had to take me to the hospital."

His tongue goes over his teeth behind his lips. "It's not just about her?'

Jerry looks at his hands. I told him about Kris when he asked about witnesses. About Denny too, but judging from the stupid fish bumper sticker on his car, he doesn't exactly approve of my affair, much less with another woman. But he took the information and filed it away – no details. Just another piece of the legal puzzle. He hasn't said a word, negative or otherwise, and I can appreciate that sort of professionalism.

My mouth is still heavy after thinking about her, but I'm calmer now. "No. Not really."

"Not really?"

"I'm leaving because I'm terrified. If she wants to be with me, then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I don't have that to count on right now."

"You want to be with her?" His eyes are just boring in to me.

And I finally have the courage to look back. Look him right in the eye and say exactly what I mean for once. "I've always wanted to be with her."

* * *

 Cutting my hair didn't make me feel any different like I wanted it to. It's been too long since we'd talked and I shut down. I haven't went out with friends or talked to Denny though his voice mails have been clogging up my cell phone answering machine.

I don't know what happened, but I zoned out thinking about that day at my apartment – the whole day just ruining most of the available surfaces I have available there. I can't go anywhere in there without seeing what we did and feeling it all over again, and hating myself. And then needing her all over again.

I avoided talking to Dana for the next week afterward until he showed up at my apartment in a suit for a dinner I already agreed to go to with him. Whoever decided there needed to be a red carpet to a hall where people would only pick at gourmet food while sniffing each other's butts was an idiot. I got a migraine as soon as the cameras started flashing, but Dana didn't notice. We got inside and I told him, and his response was something along the lines of he knew I had pain killers in my purse – and I did. But I didn't want to feel like being passed from person to person all groggy while he did his networking and promoting. I didn't even like the movie that much. The girl actress is nice – we'd met before, but I could leave the rest of it. So I suffered through introduction after introduction and drank a little more than I normally would when at a boyfriend's function.

And then it hit me. I had already started thinking of him as my boyfriend… and 'drunk me' told him. Not in so many words. Just "I told my mother you were my boyfriend on accident."

He said, "On accident?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it yet."

"Doesn't matter." He shrugged. "I'm not seeing anyone else."

I nodded.

"You can call me whatever you want."

"Okay." I looked right at him without a smile. "Jenny."

He rolled his eyes and held my hand for the rest of the night.

And a week later we went to meet my parents. And they loved him, of course. He's not Idina and they told me I found a good one.

The whole time until we were back on the plane home, I just smiled and ignored the fact that it was felt great to make everyone else happy, even though I kept checking my phone to see if she'd texted me. She didn't, but the fact I wanted her to so much spoke for itself, to me.

So I moved and cut my hair. Last week I started picking out music for a new album. I've been looking for more work to keep me busy for over a year and a half. And he'll feel neglected sooner or later and tell me, at which point I'll tell him my career comes first and he'll walk away.

But tonight I'm on his arm.

And she's performing.

I feel physically ill. Every so often I look around hoping to see her and hoping I don't at the very same time. If I didn't take a hand full of downers before they started hair and makeup, I'm sure I wouldn't be able to breathe right now. The only reason I'm here is because I'm his date and his fifty shades of money raked in enough cash to get an Oscar nod, and her Disney deal landed her a performing spot at the biggest thing in our industry… I want to hug her.

I want to tell her congratulations and kiss her face, because I'm so proud of her.

Though there's this nagging, recurring thought that she doesn't want to see me. Why would she? I've created the scenario in my mind that she came over so she can feel superior or whatever her motive was all over again – beat Dana in the one way she felt confident. So she could put herself in his shoes and then make me forget what he felt like at all. She was just a spectator at her own idea, watching me come in and out of one euphoria after another, to the point I had to hold on to her so she would stop and I could take stock of my body again.

Before I know it, we're seated and my face feels too hot, but my arms are cold. His hand is on my thigh. Everything is sort of underwater until that parrot faced man butchers her name, and then there she is.

I don't hear myself gasp, but Dana turns to look at me.

The look on his face or anyone's face is so far from my mind, I couldn't begin to explain it. I'm just watching her with my heart in my throat. Watching her hands, and her mouth, and the way her body follows the rhythm instead of goes _with_ it. Like it always has. Her eyes close when she's nervous on stage, not for dramatic effect, it's because her chest gets too tight and she doesn't want to look out at the great, gray mass that is the audience without a few drinks in her.

My body leaning forward in my seat doesn't hit me until she doesn't hit her note.

There's a feeling in my throat that says I might vomit for her, and my eyes well like they could bubble over at any minute.

"You okay?" Dana asks.

The song is over, so I nod. But my eyes never leave her. Even when the lights go down and the announcer's voice is too loud on the speakers overhead, I still try and find her silhouette. My brain is too foggy to focus through the thunderous applause, and I hope and pray she hears it – hears everyone cheering for her because she's amazing and she deserves it.

"What's up, babe?"

I wipe my eyes quickly and take a deep breath. His hand is already on my thigh so I dig my fingers under his so I can wrap my own around them. I can't remember if it was Percocet for my neck or too much Prozac and Vicodin mixed together, although with my shoulders getting so hot, I think it might be the latter. My jaw feels too big for my face all of the sudden and I have to slump down in my seat to keep from falling over. "I just miss her."

His thumb goes over my fingers, and I have to actually try not to roll my eyes. "Yeah?"

My head bobs up and down for a while, and I can't pay attention to most of the rest of what's happening.

I want to hug her until she can't breathe. She did wonderfully, and even though she was nervous and in a weird point in her life, and in a dynamic she had never been a part of before, she did wonderfully. So it was a little bit pitchy, so what? Everyone is at times. She was still perfect.

He takes me home and I push him away with a headache and a grimace and he just sleeps next to me, while my very expensive dress hangs on a hanger that didn't come with it. My hair won't keep my neck warm because it's not there, and I don't want him to touch me.

So in the half darkness of my room, with the light from the hall spilling in.

The image of the room in my brain keeps twisting and shifting before resetting itself and going again. I won't throw up. And then I remember the complimentary champagne and I think maybe I might have to.

Instead I grab my phone for something to focus on and tweet at her, and look at all of the things with my name or her name attached to them. I want to text her, but she hasn't texted back since she came over, and I'm scared she'll ignore me forever now.

Another fit of tears, another night wrapped in the arms of a man who should mean so much more to me. He doesn't understand, but he's given up asking when I'm crying at night now.

Somewhere in the mess, I fall asleep, in an uncomfortable bustier and a full face of makeup. My blankets aren't as good as they should be, but they're something. His arms aren't as soft, as gentle as hers… but they're there. They give me something to hold on to. They make me feel at least a little bit wanted.

* * *

 Anthony called earlier.

I don't know what I have ever done to deserve people like him. Sometimes I feel like my life has been too full of avoidance and pain to ever earn the love of people like him, or Kristin, or even my sister. People who give their all just to make sure you have what you need, and to give their love and support.

He asked how I was doing with the divorce, and my heart wanted to tell him everything. It wanted to go through my whole life since we had met and correct his subjective memory on the whole thing. For a second, I even wanted to make him hate Taye. In the few weeks following, I wanted to tell everyone, let the drama fly and sell the pictures anyway, give my heart to the rest of the world and have them list all the reasons I was better than him and why I was right to give him away, if only for the ego boost and to take some light away from my many, many failures.

And then I think of Walker, the magic that was born out of all of my mistakes. He'll already read so many things when he gets older with all of the difficulty that's been paved with the divorce in the first place.

Instead we laughed over the tour, and our insane schedule. And then he brought it up.

"I have to ask though… a Christmas Album?"

"Yeah?"

He laughed in a way that made the speaker of my phone do an audible splinter in my ear. "Dee, you're Jewish. Why are you singing Jesus songs?"

"For _money_?"

"Oh, well… in that case." The grin in his voice over the phone made me honestly smile for the first time this morning.

He went on and on about what we were doing over the holidays and I told him that Cara was doing better than any of us. She's had her shit together since before I was out of the house. I don't know where I went wrong, but what I wouldn't kill to have her grounded, responsible point of view on life. She's always been my rock, and she didn't even know it.

I told him I might stay with her and her family, but I didn't know if I would have Walker. No one really celebrates the same holidays anymore, but I want to hug him when it's nice and cold outside. I don't know who would be on the plane ride with him… All of these ridiculous, complicated logistics I hadn't thought about make me want to take it all back and just avoid him as best I can instead.

There's so many times through every day I have to remind myself it's for me and it's for him. He gets to see me happy and free, and he gets to see his father completely separate of the violence hidden in his childhood. Everything will work out.

 _Everything will be fine_.

I imagine her little twang in my head more than I should.

And I imagine her with his hands around her waist, and him kissing her shoulder. I don't want to know if she grins and looks over her at him under her big, long eyelashes, or if she laughs and pushes him away. I don't want to think about him touching her. I don't want to think about if he makes her happier than I do, or than I could.

All I can do is grind my teeth together and look at my glass, still half full of whatever cider I decided looked most like beer and would exempt me from random questions, and wonder if I should just give in and text her. Tell her I miss her and that I want to come and see her.

Although my brain says she can do better. There are plenty of other people who wouldn't worry about a few camera men outside of her apartment and would come and love on her anyway because she needs it and she's afraid to say. Maybe he's already there with her – watching her stupid crime shows and playing with her hair. Maybe he bought her greasy Thai food and they're eating it on the floor together.

"Idina!"

It's a man's voice. But it's lighter – surprised.

I turn around and there's a rough half grin on a face I remember, but I can't place immediately.

All it takes is another full smile to remind me of his face next to Taye's at the coffee machine on set, and practicing with Adam at the piano. His hair isn't quite as long, but his face is still youthful and happy, if not just a little more round.

He takes long, graceful strides towards me like he knows exactly what he's doing. Even though we're both at a back alley industry bar on a Tuesday with alcohol in our hands.

My back straightens up and I squint at him. "Hey."

"You can't remember my name, can you?"

The booze laugh for me. "I remember you're face…" both of my hands go out, because I haven't hugged anyone in a week. "Aaron! Oh my god! How are you?!"

His arms are around me, respectfully, in an instant. Barely at my rib cage.

Miraculously, the people beside me leave and he perches himself on a bar stool like he was always meant to be there. "Jeez, it's been a while. How are you?" His cheeks make the lines on the outside of his eyes look like canyons trying to dig themselves deeper, even when he doesn't let me answer. "I mean after the high of performing at the Oscars."

"High?" My eyebrows twitch all my themselves.

"You were there! How many times has that happened?"

I roll my eyes.

But he's smart enough not to let me break myself down any more. "I thought you were great."

"Thank you. That makes one of us." I offer a very fake toast with my glass. "How are you? What have you been doing? I thought I would see you everywhere after we wrapped."

His shoulder popped up and dropped down quickly. "I don't know. After the movie I had to deal with the fact that Jonathan passed… I think my brain decided just doing things for myself was wrong?" He looked at the bar tender and then at his finger nails, and then back to my hair. "I volunteered a lot, and then went back to school."

"Wow."

Aaron grins and nods. "Drug abuse counseling. I got over my own shit and then it all fell into place."

"I didn't know you had shit." I squint at him in the most gentle way I know how, which is still probably about as subtle as an axe to the face.

"No one did." He shakes his head. "Coke is everywhere. No one really has to see you do it to know that you're in over your head."

I don't know what else to do but frown.

But he doesn't give me the chance to slip into listening. He's right back up on his feet. "But we all have our own misadventures, right?" He looks at me like I must have something to say.

"Yeah?"

His features are softer than I remember. Something about his eyes make me want to spill everything, the gentleness of his voice and the way his knuckles dip into his cheek when he's staring at me. "I heard about everything else too." The nod he offers is barely visible. "I'm sorry about that. It always seemed like you guys were really happy together."

I don't know if it's three ciders or needing to tell someone who I have no idea will react, but I stare into the clear glass under the yellow and nod. "It seemed like it."

"Everything's always greener on the other side, right?"

"Green?" One of my eyebrows go up. "Is that an Elphaba joke."

"Ya know, I didn't mean for it to be, but I'll keep it." He points at me with strange finger guns, and I feel my mouth form a smile more than I do it on my own.

And then I realize myself and look away.

It gets quiet again and he pushes his drink away, leaning so his body is facing me completely. "Hey," He waits for me to find his eyes. "I'm not going to suggest you unload all of your problems on me – a stranger – for all intents and purposes, but as a professional I'm saying you should talk to someone. Loss is always weird to cope with. And your mental health always does better when you have another human to work through your headspace with." His straight line of a smile is refreshing. Unassuming. Clean. "Not all the time, but.. Everyone needs someone to talk to once and a while."

"Plenty of people to talk to. No one that will listen." I gulp and my nose twitches at my glass. "Listen without going for a paycheck from the press."

"Medical professionals have a confidentiality with patients by law, unless you're a threat to yourself or others."

There's a big gap in the conversation. He doesn't say consoling words or touch me. He doesn't stare at my chest or try and scoot closer. He's waiting for me to take the lead. I've seen Good Will Hunting. I know how this works. And it works with me too. After I look over at him and see big round eyes, invested for the sake of me getting anything I need to off my chest and nothing more, he buys my trust immediately.

That or I just want someone to talk to. Someone who will listen.

"He beat me." I say gently. "He was with other women…" It's like a cover-up, except it's not. It's just another nail in the coffin of our marriage. And I bite my top lip while I feel my eyelids drooping closed with some kind of embarrassment. "So was I."

From my peripheral I see him nod, but not make a move to take away from what I'm saying with a question or a statement.

I feel my eyes getting warm, so I look toward the ceiling before I realize it's a mirror, and I look away quickly, down to the many different shaped bottles on the middle shelf of the bar in front of us. "There were so many lies… and a lot of damage between us." I shook my head. "I couldn't imagine raising Walker there anymore. And I couldn't imagine being good for him. Realizing that being happy, myself, would be better for him is what saved me."

When I finally look at him, there's an intensity in his eyes I didn't expect.

I stare for a while before he looks away and shakes his head.

"What?"

Aaron's face is hollow and it makes me sit up straighter. "It just… I've just lost a lot of respect for him right now." His thumb tapped on his glass. "It makes me," his hand hits his stomach a couple times while he decides where to look. "I feel kinda sick knowing I was his friend."

My jaw stiffens in its place. "If it makes any difference, it didn't happen until a long time after the movie." I shrugged like it didn't matter; like it hadn't taken over my life for so long. "No one knew."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter who knew. It matters that it happened." His eyes turn to me – me completely. Not history, or my tits or my ass. He's looking at my eyes and the makeup under them, the dry shampoo that's beginning to rough up my hair. And more than that, it's not pity or misplaced sorrow.

There's this look on his face that tells me he just wants me to be okay. It's more than the look that Kristin gets when we're together suddenly and we haven't talked for too long… and when I'm being too distant. Maybe not more – maybe it's just different.

It's almost like hurt. Just plain, and unfair, and more than a bit offensive.

"It's my job, alright." He answers without me having to ask. "I won't tell anyone. And I'm not going to ask you more. You don't need to share anything. And… you know, not with me. But I need to tell you that you're worth more than that. Everyone is worth more than that, okay?"

I'm not going to cry. No matter what he says.

I keep telling myself things like that, even though I don't really believe them.

"Here," he stands up and reaches in his pocket.

He hands me his card and hits back down, avoiding his beer entirely and sitting back comfortably in his chair.

"Please, understand you don't have to talk to me, but I'm just… if you ever need an objective opinion. Or an ear."

He can't look me in the eye now.

I didn't know anyone would feel this bad. This situation I put myself in over and over again and chose over someone who loved me and hadn't ever done anything to hurt me. Just thinking about her, and about him, and about my life. All of the shitty things I've done because they seemed good or fine in the moment have only made things harder. I kept everything instead of doing the right thing – one right or another. Instead I picked all of the easy wrongs because they were at my fingertips and didn't tell me no.

"Do you think maybe it's a kind of addiction?" Is what comes out of my mouth instead – for whatever reason my absolutely fucked up brain picks that to zero in on.

He stares straight into my face then, confused and worried. "You're a domestic assault victim. It's n-"

"I meant infidelity." I correct.

There's that stare again. This time far more puzzled. "I don't know."

I realize he might think I was talking about Taye. And it's not worth fixing or explaining right now.

Most of my life filters through my head, from this moment until I was seven years old step by step. From my parents fighting in the living room when they thought Cara and I were asleep, up to a few weeks ago, when I was in between Kristin's legs, taking what I needed from her before I left, and used what I needed all over again. And now, looking at a man who was never more than an extra in my imagination or in my life, I feel like I should be turning to someone who knows me more, who has invested time into me when things were good too, not just a random, sad interruption of both of our lives in a dimly lit bar.

But he's here.

I feel it happening, and I know I shouldn't.

Yet, out of all of the possible circumstances, here he is with a hand outstretched when I thought I had exhausted all of my recourses. Someone who doesn't have any opinion of me other than what I've told him. A rare clean slate. I'm thinking of using him like everyone else, but it's better him than Kristin again.

And he offered. And it seems like he's too professional to let me fuck him and run like the rest of the world. Maybe he'd just tell me the hard truth – the truth about all of my bullshit and listen to me ramble.

He's still staring at me when my brain comes back down to earth.

I feel my lips part, almost like hope, before I speak. And then I ask,

"Are you free tomorrow night?"


End file.
